Setting this novel in the factory town of Leicester in the 1860s against the backdrop of England's industrialization is quite a bold authorial choice for an author playing within a genre that is over-enamored of its typical Georgian-Regency milieu. That choice is the first signal that characters in The Duchess Affair has other preoccupations aside from the approval of the ton. Socialist pamphlets! Sanitation Societies! Chess strategems! Mary Wollstonecraft namedrop!

The main characters convey raw, recognizable emotions and motivations within the contrived set-up of their meeting. Robert, the Duke of Clermont, has a lot of earnest vulnerability in him that happily doesn't devolve into casual misogyny masquerading as emotional baggage. And while the backstory for Minnie requires a lot of suspension of disbelief to accept, the smart, strategic unfolding of the mystery carried the plot ably to the end.

This type of novel is my prime argument as to why we should evaluate works of fiction within the bounds of their genre, as opposed to judging them against all works of literature. The Duchess War elevates the tropes of the historical romance while adhering strictly to its form, like a beautifully wrought contemporary sonnet. Yes, there is a happy ending. Yes, there is a surfeit of cravats and satin gloves. Yes, there are at least 3.5 sex scenes spaced out in appropriate intervals. But to complain about all those sign posts without acknowledging what sets it apart from the more mediocre iterations of the romance novel is akin to watching a stage musical and becoming outraged that Javert bursts into song.

(Sorry for using this as review as a my soapbox asklhfaldfha. I really enjoyed this.)