This is described in the cover copy as an “Elizabethan romp” which…is sort of true. It’s a little less rompy than the blurb implies, but it’s full of delightful research tidbits. It’s also a second chance romance (sort of) of two people who figure out that life together is better than life apart, and that sex can be fun.

Frances and Henry have been married for ten years, and they have several children together, but after the death of two of them, Frances tells Henry that she wants to have separate lives, and that she’s accepted a post as a Lady in Waiting to Queen Elizabeth. Henry reluctantly agrees, but he’s also got a court position, so he decides to woo his wife back to his side.

I really loved the evolution of Frances and Henry’s relationship. They got married young, as the aristocracy did, and they both had very narrow ideas on sex: he did his business, and she let him, because that was her duty. She presented him with an heir, a spare, and a couple of girls, and that was that.

It wasn’t until she left and Henry found a Kama Sutra-like book that it even occurred to him that there could be more to this sex thing than simple penetration. (It’s a fine line to walk with a hero that needs to be the leader on sex. If the story is set up so that he already had experience, he got it by cheating on his wife, and if he always had that knowledge, why wasn’t he trying to make sure his wife had pleasure? The answer is take a look, it’s in a book!)

Frances’ most acute problem is that she’s suffering from post-partum depression, which was deepened by the death of her baby. But she also feels unloved and unappreciated by her husband, and deeply unhappy with her life of running her household while he does whatever it is he does.  In the court of Queen Elizabeth, she gains friends and confidants, and discovers a talent for planning masqued balls. She also discovers that court intrigue and people who pretend friendship aren’t really her bag.

But the real joy for me was the detail in this book. The characters spend a lot of their time dancing, and they dance correctly for the period. My friend Aaron has done quite a lot of work studying renaissance era dances, and when Frances and Henry were doing Italian dance steps, I asked him if Elizabeth would have her court dancing in the Italian style. Of course, he said, she loved Italian dancing, and her favorite dance was the Volta.

The above is a much more accurate Volta.

The below is pretty, but Aaron about had a stroke when I showed it to him. But it’s PRETTY.

And I have also learned a little bit about Italian dancing (mostly from Aaron), and not only did Spock use the right names for the steps, the actual dances she described were real dances! (Italian renaissance dances are extremely finicky, and the steps are fussy enough that they really require drilling to come naturally. I honestly find them very stressful.) The demonstration of research made the world of the book more textured, and should be a very nice treat for the nerds in the group.

Also, in light of all the questions for certain corners of society about “how can you possibly make asking for consent sexy? Doesn’t that ruin the mood?” Uh, shush. We have a myriad of examples of just that very thing in this story. And once Henry understands that there is such a thing as pleasure in the sexual act, and once he understands why Frances doesn’t want to have sex with him, he vows to woo her back, and vows not to engage in sex until she asks. There’s a lot of slow burn in “Do you like this? May I do this?” while Frances learns things about her own pleasure and how to articulate her own desires.  It’s pretty fucking hot.

There are also some spying and assassination attempts, but those are mostly incidental.

I very much enjoyed this story, and not just for the dancing and the clothes. I loved Henry and Frances learning, after 10 years of a very correct marriage, how to be partners and lovers. I loved the active seeking of consent. It’s the best kind of second chance romance.