I suppose I ought to get all critical and point out that Deceiving Miss Dearborn is chock full of coincidences that defy all the laws of probability and logic. I suppose I ought to pout because there is a big separation in the latter part of the book. And I guess I should be displeased because several potentially interesting incidents happen off-stage and some of the secondary characters are left undeveloped. But I can’t get all mean and grinchy about this book at all. It’s simply too sweet and charming.

In the opening chapter, our hero wakes up in a ditch – dazed, naked, and badly bruised – with no memory of who he is, where he is, or how he got there. He finds a nasty coat in the ditch that serves to cover him up, so he dons it and staggers off toward shelter.

Miss Annabelle Dearborn wonders how she and her mother will survive. Her father lost the mortgage to their home while dealing with a con-man/gambler/all around rotter. After her father’s death, Annabelle worked her fingers to the bone to try and hold on their home. She turned it into a boarding house, and at present has three guests, two of whom pay and one (an elderly comtesse) who promises to pay but never gets around to it. Kindhearted Annabelle can’t turn the comtesse out, so she works hard and saves every penny but it looks like she will have to make a loveless marriage to a man with money if she wants to keep her home.

Meanwhile, our hero staggers into Annabelle’s barn, where she discovers him when she goes to milk a cow. Annabelle has a couple of the servants clean him up and put him to bed to recover. When he wakes up with no memory at all, Annabelle gives him a place to stay in return for his help with her work. He calls himself Mr. Wakefield and sets to his tasks with hope that his memory will return.

Wakefield has flashes of memory but nothing tangible. Then one day, a homeless old man comes by, and he is wearing Wakefield’s clothes. Naturally, Annabelle takes him in, and when Wakefield discovers his clothes, he plans to go to London and look up the tailor whose mark is in the clothes to see if the tailor knows him. Annabelle and her mother plan to go to London too, for one last chance at snaring a husband for Annabelle.

The plot of Deceiving Miss Dearborn is packed so full of conincidences it boggles the mind. For instance, there is a connection between Mr. Wakefield, the comtesse, and the man who fleeced Mr. Dearborn out of his estate. And when Wakefield arrives in London, the first person he meets is…well you’ll see when you read the book. But the story moves at such a clip that it wasn’t until I had finished it that I thought – “now wait a minute here, what are the odds of that happening?” I don’t want to give away any more, but despite all the coincidences, I was thoroughly engaged by the story.

The hero and heroine were a very, very likable pair. Mr. Wakefield (I’ll leave you to discover his real identity on your own) is a true gentleman and quite the perfect gentle knight. He is chivalrous, responsible, and very kind while an amnesiac, and (as we discover) just as chivalrous, responsible and kind when he recovers his memory. He is quite the paragon.

Annabelle is a tad too nice for her circumstances, especially in her habit of taking in strays even though she is thisclose to losing her home. But it’s clear she does so, not because she is silly and brainless, but because she is fundamentally kind and can’t turn down someone who truly needs assistance. Annabelle shoulders a great deal of responsibility, and feels its weight. She loves her home, her mother is dependent and not strong and and there are many people on the estate and Annabelle is responsible for them. For all these reasons, she is prepared to make the sacrifice of a loveless marriage, even though she is a true romantic and her feelings have been stirred up by Wakefield, who has as romantic a soul as she does.

I enjoyed Deceiving Miss Dearborn despite its flaws. The book is not unique or grandbreaking, but reading it is as pleasant as spending a couple of hours with genial friends. Sometimes you can’t ask for more than that.