If we graded debut novels on a curve, this one would rate a B. Frankly, the author’s clear voice and smooth prose are enough to compensate to some degree for a plot I didn’t even come close to buying and some distressingly one-note characterizations. Sadly, though, these two positives are only enough to land A Forbidden Love somewhere in the middle of the average range when compared to the majority of European Historical romance novels published today and, considering the author’s obvious promise, that’s unfortunate.

The forbidden love of the title is certainly that: a young viscount who is also the heir to an earldom and an innocent and uneducated gypsy. Hero Anthony Kennington, Viscount Hastings, meets gypsy Sabrina one day when he is walking on his family’s estate and she is being attacked by a group of villains. When she is struck on the head, Anthony rescues Sabrina from the bad guys and secretly takes the unconscious young woman back to his bedroom in the family manse. When Sabrina awakens, she is understandably confused and afraid, but Anthony quickly reassures her that he only wants to help her escape from the men who have only recently begun pursuing her and assist her in getting back safely to her gypsy camp.

Predictably enough, Anthony soon begins to lust after Sabrina – those bedside vigils leave you a lot of time to get worked up, I suppose – and Sabrina, also not surprisingly, returns the feelings even though she’s a virgin and betrothed to a man selected by her tribal elders. After Anthony’s sister warns her off and Sabrina herself sees him in close quarters with a beautiful noblewoman at his sister’s debut ball, she resolves to leave without telling her rescuer. Her plans are foiled, however, when Anthony discovers her mid-attempt and resolves to take her back to her family.

Though Sabrina is safely returned to her tribe, just why she was attacked remains an unanswered question – that is until Anthony some time later spies on another woman an identical locket to the gold one Sabrina found years earlier and always wears. Could there be a connection between the calculating London doxy he spies wearing the locket and the sweet and virtuous gypsy?

Quite honestly, the first hundred pages of this book are s-l-o-w. That’s bad enough, but the reason they’re so slow is that the first third of the book consists virtually entirely of conversations between two not very interesting people, occasionally interrupted by those oh-so-predictable moments when they lose control of their budding lust. Seriously. Sabrina, for the record, is an eighteen-year-old gypsy who doesn’t know how to read and is prone to spouting some pretty standard romance novels gypsy-isms. Anthony, on the other hand, is one of those carbon copy young rakes with an adoring family who tips the willing maidservants when he gets a chance.

After that painfully slow beginning, things pick up a bit when the action moves to London, but, regrettably, it is at that point that the really unbelievable plot elements begin to kick in. And I do mean really unbelievable. Eye-rollingly unbelievable, as a matter of fact. And that’s even taking into account the admittedly loose standards we all have when it comes to believability in romance novels.

Still, there is promise in the author’s voice and prose. She just needs a better plot. And better characters.

But, even with all that said, there are certainly worse books out there. And, though you would probably be well advised to take a pass on this one, you might find it worthwhile to watch Ms. Benedict’s future reviews in order to gauge if she’s living up to her undeniable promise. I know I will.