As I was trying to think of how to describe this book and my impression of it, I kept thinking of the parties I used to attend when I was in college. Looking forward to them with great anticipation, I invariably found myself profoundly disappointed. The evening would start out beautifully. All my friends were witty and entertaining. But the longer I stayed, the drunker and sillier everybody got, and the more irritated I grew, until I had to ask myself why I even bothered with them in the first place. Reading Enraptured was just that kind of experience for me. A potentially strong plot and interesting characters devolved into a juvenile exercise of immensely maddening proportions.

Marigold Fenwick and her two friends, all devotees of the protofeminist philosophies of Mary Wollstonecraft, travel to London to confront Sacheveral de Vries, Duke of Westermere, whose holdings include their town of Stokesbury Hatton. Their intention is to force him to do something to improve the wretched conditions there. Marigold’s idea of catching his attention is to leap into his coach in the middle of town and screech at him. When he refuses to listen to her, she rips her clothes and cries rape.

Sacheveral’s ruling passion is the new field of forensic science. Marigold strikes him as intelligent, if somewhat irritating, and she’s pretty enough to stir his lust, so he decides that, as long as the world thinks he’s compromised her, he might as well marry her; she can be his research assistant. Marigold will have none of this marriage business, though: doesn’t the great Wollstonecraft declare that matrimony ruins the natural affection between men and women? So, despite the fact that she’s a vicar’s daughter, she tells him they’ll just live together instead. After their first episode of total intimacy – which I admit is fairly amusing, involving mention of Oriental and Persian texts on the art of love – Marigold runs back to Stokesbury Hatton, afraid that she’s fallen under his spell and will betray her principles by agreeing to marry him.

Satch follows after her and discovers that she hasn’t been exaggerating about conditions there. His evil, corrupt manager is murdered, and the evidence points to either Marigold or one of her friends. On top of that, his right-hand man, Jack Ironfoot, is convinced that someone from the duke’s past is trying to kill him. Then a flood threatens the town, and everyone must scramble to avoid total catastrophe.

Where do I start to point out the flaws in the book? Marigold is completely irritating: so shrill and impossible to please that I wondered why Satch was even trying. She comes off as a wannabe bluestocking – just smart enough to appear brainless once things get a little complicated. Satch, on the other hand, is fairly engaging, especially when it comes to his cluelessness about the workings of the female mind. Jack Ironfoot is equally interesting. However, the other secondary characters are completely forgettable. And the continued reference to Mary Wollstonecraft rubbed me so wrong that, whenever I saw her name, I skimmed over those passages. I wanted to mutter, “Okay, okay, I get the point – can we get on with it, for Pete’s sake?”

The solutions to the two mysteries were unsatisfactory, for different reasons. The motive behind the murder is implausible, and as for who’s after Satch, all I can say is this – it’s unfair to the reader to set up a stalker scenario, and reveal absolutely nothing about the stalker until the last two chapters. I felt positively cheated. As for the two love scenes, while they had a funny side, they were more titillating than satisfying. It was as if the author was trying to push the envelope, but fell just short of getting there.

There is nothing remarkable about the style of writing. The only thing that saved this book from earning wall-banger status was the hero and his friend. I was disappointed for them. Their story started out so strong, but fell apart once the other characters began to act in such a totally stupid manner. If you want to read this book, go ahead, but I warn you, you’d better make sure you have a designated driver for your intelligence.