This book is third in a series that, from its descriptions, sounded pretty promising. Napoleonic Era spies, swashbuckle-y characters, romance, suspense. Can't go wrong.
Yes it can. And it did.
This particular episode was vapid, fluttery tripe. The heroine is as canned as every other feisty Jane Austen rip, the romance was predictable and immature, and I all but forgot there was any sort of dangerous conflict to solve. The parallel modern storyline was even worse; that heroine's biggest worry is getting a date.
Getting. A. Date.
I thought we left this sort of thing in 1983?
Not even going to try the others in the series. Willig should be embarrassed, TBQH. This was nearly as bad as the Soulless books. 'Soulless' is right.
But that's a whole 'nother post.
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