Stephanie Laurens’ A Rogue’s Proposal

The word rogue has the following synonyms in my dictionary: scoundrel, villain, good for nothing, miscreant, reprobate, and wretch -- and in its more archaic use: blackguard and knave. I’ve already written in the past about the abundance of rogues and rakes in romances -- they are well loved. But in Stephanie Laurens’ romance, A Rogue's Proposal, Demon (otherwise known as Harry or Harold) Cynster is a rogue of a different kind.

I did not fall in love with Demon -- something that I absolutely am looking for in these romantic heroes. He irritated me from the first, chasing after Flick the boy who he suspects is a woman because of the shape of his (or rather, her) bottom. Mostly, however, Demon irritated me because he wouldn’t give Flick (Felicity) even the slightest chance to prove that she can get along just fine without being rescued by him. If he was a rogue, he was a rogue in that.

By continually rescuing Flick, Demon managed to compromise her honor twice, lost the trail of the man they were both following, and made Flick feel lonely and unloved (in an attempt to keep her reputation intact). Fortunately, Stephanie Laurens kept rescuing him: the lord who saw Flick and Demon together got mumps, Flick’s lenient and apparently too optimistic guardian always believed their stories, their quarry magically reappeared in the corner of the street in front of their eyes, and an old aunt popped up to explain to Flick why Demon was ignoring her.

So many romance novels present the strong, independent heroine. I felt sad for Flick to miss being in those ranks. A natural leader, responsible, led by a strong sense of justice and fairness, courageous to a fault, I wanted Flick to experience the same excitement and freedom as other regency heroines. Every time Demon stopped her from rushing headlong into an adventure, every time she felt she had to ask him for help, every time he rescued her from what he perceived as a threat, I cringed. I wanted Flick to get her wings.

Stephanie Laurens, however, had a plan, which perhaps I might have seen had I stopped being so irritated with Demon all the time. Demon is a man who is used to seeing women in black and white, as either weak and helpless maidens or as temptresses. Innocent yet smart, loyal, brave, and often rush, Flick is neither damsel in distress nor a woman of the world. Demon starts out by reluctantly allowing her to lead the way out of a room, but he ends up, whether he wants to or not, admitting that she’s just as capable of rescuing him as he is her.

I ended up enjoying this novel a lot more after I understood what Stephanie Laurens was about, though I did not love Demon to the end. Too controlling and uncommunicative to my taste. A Rogue’s Proposal is the fourth in the Cynster novels (of which there are twenty). I’m thinking I might check the first one out.

Check out my review of another Cynster Novel here: The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae

Woman and the Reformed Rake

Typing in the word “rake” on Amazon brings up hundreds of novel results: romancing a rake, reforming a rake, running away with a rake, redeeming a rake, or taming a rake. Hundreds more come up for “rogue” and “scoundrel.” The general outline of these novels tends to be the same: an immoral, experienced man meets an innocent, inexperienced woman. She will teach him that he can love and be loved, and he will set her free by teaching her the mysteries of her own body.

This basic plot repeats with fascinating variations. Most recently I read The Devil in Winter, by Lisa Kleypas, where young “wallflower” Evie requests the protection of Sebastian, a notorious rake, promising him her fortune if he marries her; and the fabulous Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake by Sarah Maclean (on which I wrote a blog before). The male protagonists of these two novels are reformed by the end, tying the knot, promising fidelity, falling in love, and allowing their woman to twirl them round her little finger.

Richardson’s Pamela is an eighteenth-century example of this kind of novel, but Richardson’s novels, written nearly three hundred years ago, were moral lessons, aimed at teaching young ladies the importance of keeping their virtue intact. Pamela was able to resist Mr. B.’s attempts at ruining her -- though I seem to remember a certain rather juicy scene where he tries to kiss her, and she evades his embrace by lying on the floor face-down (Richardson thought if she lay face-up the scene would be too sizzling). Pamela marries Mr. B., but her successor, the heroine of Richardson’s later novel Clarissa, is not so lucky. Clarissa’s rake offers to make amends and marry her, but for Clarissa, once ruined, her only choice was to die. Neither Lovelace’s offer of marriage nor his regrets could save her, no matter how willing he was to be reformed.

Today, reserving innocence till after the wedding is less wide-spread than in the eighteenth century. “Rake” novels no longer warn girls of succumbing to the charms of a rake. Instead, they promise delights beyond our imagination to a girl who is willing to live by her own rules. Not less important, however, is the message that it is okay for women to take pleasure, to seize the day and take control of their own destiny.

Truth be told, I do not read romance for its lessons, moral or otherwise. The chase, the attraction, the tension between the two main characters is what makes me come back to them again and again. In a way, because most romances were written by women, I am willing to forgive the male protagonist a lot. I do, however, believe that in between the fabulously decadent scenes, romance novels offer a vision of the modern woman, perhaps not yet 100% free of her expectations from men, but ready to jump into adventure and experiences, try new things, and leave all the norms and regulations imposed by society in her dust. And the best part is: she always lives to tell the tale.

How the Woman Eclipsed the Rake

A week ago I finished reading Sarah MacLean’s Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake, and I’ve been raving about the novel to everyone. Most of my friends refuse to listen after my first sentence identifies this book as a romance, but see, this novel -- though a romance -- is one of those really great books which I don’t just read, I live.

Chapter One finds Callie sitting on the shelf: at 28, she’s an old, plump maid and nobody asks her to dance anymore. She sits with the other unmarried ladies and suffers their comments, like this one from her Aunt Beatrice: “Have you considered a diet of boiled eggs and cabbage? I hear it works wonders. Then you would be less... well, more.”

I don’t think Aunt Beatrice would have appreciated the direction in which Callie takes her suggestion to be “well, more.” Callie makes a list of projects which she would like to try: kiss someone passionately, watch a duel, learn to fence, smoke a cherut and drink whiskey among others. And she sets out to accomplish her list, finding an unexpected ally in confirmed rake Gabriel whom she had always loved from a distance. As you can imagine, Gabriel assists her with the fulfillment of her dreams while punctuating each of their adventures with a lot of excitement of the bedroom kind.

The kissing scenes in this novel are fabulous, each different from the one before. I got swept off my feet, left swooning, lost in the atmosphere of the book. The ballroom, the secret corners, Gabriel’s bedroom with the piano inside where he secretly plays to himself. I could see Callie and Gabriel from across the room, partially hidden by dancing couples, kissing passionately in an alcove. Blush. Swoon.

I always loved a rake. William Blake commented on Paradise Lost that “Milton was on Satan’s side and didn’t know it?” I loved Satan! And the devil’s in a rake, right? Rakes are dangerous and sexually thrilling. Seventeenth and Eighteenth Century British Lit is teeming with libertines: Lovelace in Richardson’s Pamela, Don Juan, Willoughby of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. The poet Lord Byron was a well-known playboy.

But in Nine Rules I fell in love with Callie. Gabriel is mysterious and desirable. He understands Callie and though he sometimes complains, does not prevent her from trying to fulfill her list. But he is just a sidekick, important to the novel only in as much as he supports Callie’s bid for adventure. Throughout the novel Callie shines, like a bright light that leads the way, freeing up herself and the other characters from the one-sided norms that rule their society, gently, kindly, peacefully without unnecessary noise, declarations or speeches.

So yes, I know this is a romance, and you, my dear reader, might be thinking that romance equals junk. But this one romance features the inner diamond of a woman in a way many novels try to and fail. And it is worth the time.