
Second Duke’s the Charm
It’s never pleasant to write a critical or negative review of a book by an author whose work you’ve previously enjoyed, but I have to do that now, because Kate Bateman’s Second Duke’s the Charm (book one in her new Charlie’s-Angels-in-the-Regency Her Majesty’s Rebels series) was a big disappointment. With one exception, the things I usually enjoy about her books – such as sizzling sexual chemistry and genuinely witty banter – are absent, and what’s left is a bunch of hackneyed tropes and stereotypical characters faffing around in an uninteresting and somewhat peripheral plot.
After the elderly ducal husband her father forced her to marry kicks the bucket on their wedding night, Tess Townsend, the nineteen-year-old (and still virginal) Dowager Duchess of Wansford is left with the kind of independence she’d never dared dream of. For the next couple of years, she divides her time between Wansford Hall, where she does a much better job of managing the estate than the previous dukes ever did, and London, where she and her two best friends, Ellie Law (whose father is England’s top barrister – Law by name, Law by nature, eh?) and Daisy Hamilton have established King & Co., an agency that has become known for its discretion in dealing with “sensitive matters” for members of society’s elite, whose proprietor, Mr. Charles King, is entirely fictional.
After two years of widowhood, Tess has begun to realise that while she may be content to remain a widow for the rest of her life, she doesn’t particularly want to remain celibate. But she can’t seek a lover from amongst the ton because then word will spread that, contrary to what she’s allowed society to believe, she and her late husband did not, in fact, consummate their union, and this would, for reasons that made no sense, be a problem.
So Daisy comes up with the idea that Tess should attend one of the famously lascivious parties hosted by Thomas Careby at his Bedfordshire estate. It’s unlikely anyone of her aquaintance will be there, and anyway, it’s the kind of affair where people are masked, so she’ll be able to remain incognita while indulging in some “passionate experimentation”.
Justin Thornton, owner of Thornton Shipping & Trading in Bristol, is not particuarly impressed by the news that he’s the new Duke of Wansford. It’s taken nearly two years to find him, thanks to Justin’s very distant connections to the dukedom, but there’s no doubt about his right to claim the title and all that goes with it. Viewing the whole thing as a massive inconvenience and disruption to his business, he agrees to go to London to receive his letters patent, set the duchy’s affairs in order, and find a wife he can bed, then leave at Wansford while he continues with his business in Bristol. Justin decides to blow off some steam on the way to London and makes a detour to the party being hosted by his friend Thomas Careby, whose parties are always reliably debauched and where there is always plenty of female company available in the form of bored wives, widows and courtesans.
No prizes for guessing that Tess and Justin meet or that Justin is the one to give Tess her first kiss – and several more. (Plus – her first experience of giving a hand job.) Justin has no idea who the siren in the red dress is, of course, and Tess is unaware of the identity of the tall, dark and handsome stranger whose kisses make her knees weak and her blood pound. Neither of them expects to see the other again – although, of course, they do.
And when they do, it doesn’t take Justin long to work out that his partner in that memorably passionate tryst was none other than the Duchess of Wansford or to decide that she’ll suit his purposes perfectly. To that end, he proposes a marriage of convenience, but one in which sex is most definitely on the table; being wed will keep the match-making mamas away from him, and seeing Tess has already made one marriage for money and position he assumes she will have no problem making another one, especially as his terms will leave her even better off financially than she already is. He makes it very clear that he has no time for love and that his business is his sole interest and occupation, then suggests they spend three months together after which they will go their separate ways – that should be long enough to prevent boredom setting in for each of them.
Second Duke’s the Charm is predictable, the pacing is off, the characters are bland and barely two-dimensional, and there’s no chemistry or sense of emotional connection between them. Justin is your stereotypical Self Made Man who Does Not Want to Become a Duke, and who Will Not Love because of how devastated his father was when his mother died. Tess is the Virgin Widow Who Longs to Experience Physical Pleasure, and who is Fed Up with being Judged On Her Looks, and Daisy and Ellie are the sequel-bait friends, one the Clever, Bookish One who is prone to coming up with Interesting Facts at the drop of a hat, and the other the Hellion who doesn’t give a Fig for Convention. (Apologies for all the random capitalisation!)
There’s a tacked on mystery plot – two, actually – neither of which is particularly well executed. The first is the more interesting, when King & Co. is approached by none other than Queen Charlotte herself who requests their help with tracking down a blackmailer; the other appears in the second half when it becomes apparent that someone is out to kill Justin and/or Tess. The blackmail plot provides the opportunity for a bit of jealousy on Justin’s part when he notices Tess behaving suspiciously, but that seems to be its sole purpose, really, and I don’t know why the second subplot is even there – Justin solves it and deals with the perpetrator off-page and for all the impact it has, it might as well not have been there at all.
I normally love a darkly brooding hero, but Justin is basically a walking trope with no real personality. I liked that he appreciaties Tess for more than her looks and is impressed with the job she’d done running the estate, but I never saw him actually falling in love with her; his volte face about love is whiplash-inducing and his grand gesture at the end is completely ridiculous. Tess is likeable enough, but again, I never saw anything but lust between her and Justin – he’s such a personality vacuum that I couldn’t understand why she fell for him other than his looks and skill between the sheets.
The one thing I referred to at the beginning as being present in this book is a decent sense of time and place – the author knows her history. The trouble is, that most of the information imparted comes in the form of info-dumps from Ellie, who knows something about pretty much everything, from marriage settlements to divorce to seduction to racehorses to romantic poets and their tolerance to opiates.
I’ve enjoyed this author’s work in the past and had hoped for more of the same here, but Second Duke’s the Charm is tanked by poor characterisation, a lack of chemistry and a weak plot. Kate Bateman is capable of much better and I hope to see a return to form soon.






Oh my, incredibly disapointing-sounding. Bateman is usually better than and above such cliches and nominally has good depth going on. I’ve been waiting for this for awhile and mehh.
She has never bettered her first trilogy, IMO. She’s a talented author and her books are nicely grounded in history, but the hackneyed tropes in this one just killed it.
She definitely is; I liked the book she released last year a lot but man.
The random capitalizations made me laugh. They sound like frustrated pounding on a broken typewriter.
Hah – That’s Exactly How I Felt!!
Any time a historical hero is like this, it’s due to either his parents having an unhappy marriage, or his parents having a happy marriage (which meant one of them was heartbroken when the other died). No matter what the marriage was like, it scarred Lord Will-Not-Love for life. I wonder if such a man decides in advance that he will never have children, or that he will never love any children he does have in case they die too.
There are plenty of those heroes in HR as well. While I can accept that their childhoods and family dynamics may well have made some leery of love in its various forms, it’s so common a trope in HR that it feels like a very lazy way to attempt to create some kind of conflict in a romance.
… and it is not realistic for the period. Many children died early, unfortunately, as well as mothers, and so the logic of being emotionally stunted and wanting cold and distant families might make sense, this was actually common during that period. Fathers often only started taking an interest in children once they were 7 or 8, because it was deemed unnecessary to get attached too soon. This is of course totally unacceptable in a hero of romance today, though historically accurate.
That is very different from the decision not to marry and not to have children. Which would be seen as Unchristian at the time, as well as completely weird if he had money and let someone have it who was not his flesh and blood, by staying single.
The motivation has been overused and nearly never convinces me in a historical.
Except when men have a driving passion that really keeps them totally absorbed – though even then, see naval wives, military or JJ Rousseau, it was normal to have a family, and just neglect it.
Plus there’s the fact that most male aristocrats would have had it drummed into them that their main purpose in life was to produce the next generation of little aristos because their job is literally to be custodians of the land they inherit so they can pass it along. Even Justin – who wasn’t born to it – recognises the importance/necessity of providing an heir.
I absolutely loathe the “I’m not worthy”–it always makes me think of this–trope. This is trope adjacent and I dislike it as well. Yes, your dad was devastated when your mom died and yes that was painful to watch. But, damnit, you’re a grown up. LIVE AND LEARN!
Yep. These tropes are SOOOO tired – authors really need to find other ways of creating conflict in romances.
I always wish such heroes would console themselves with the hope that their wives might be the surviving spouses. And their wives, being romance heroines, would not get to use the “my parents’ marriage was happy therefore I shall never love” excuse.
I compare it to A Room with a View. George Emerson watched his mother waste away out of pure fear that she has accidentally indemnified his soul by not baptizing him, and he and his father are clearly still in mourning and broken-hearted by the time they end up in Italy to a degree. But that doesn’t stop either of them from believing in love, and George from wanting to be in love with Lucy and needing a life with her and wanting to risk it all to be with her and know joy (And naturally neither of them know about the quadruple whammy of WWI/the 1918 flu pandemic/the depression/World War II that lies ahead of them!) Be more like George, other romance heroes.
This reminds me of an idea for a romance that someone posted about on a writers’ forum. The hero didn’t believe in marriage or long-term commitment, and this caused some conflict between him and the heroine. However, by the end, she accepted that their relationship would proceed on a day-to-day basis rather than him making any promises to her.
I don’t know if this would be considered a HFN, although there were no sequels which would develop matters between them. The hero’s reason for feeling this way was that he believed it was unrealistic to promise a lifetime of love when unexpected things happen, people change, and there are no guarantees. This makes such promises mere words and therefore meaningless. Instead, he lived in the moment. He loved the heroine, but he wanted them both to have the option to walk out in case anything went wrong.
Reactions were mixed. Some people liked that this was a different kind of hero, and that he didn’t have to change to please anyone, and some people felt it wasn’t romantic to have a hero who refused to make a commitment of any sort to the heroine. I fell into the latter category, because the way I saw it, if the hero felt it was unrealistic to make long-term promises because there are no 100% guarantees in life, how would he get a mortgage or adopt a pet or have a child? Those are pretty hefty commitments too.
Long story short, though, this was an interesting attempt at doing something different from the norm, but ultimately it didn’t work for me It wouldn’t have worked even if the hero had changed his mind at the end, because I find this a strange philosophical view to hold, let alone a hill to die on. And if I can’t understand or sympathize with a character’s feelings, whether that character is Lord Will-Not-Love or this guy, the romance is dead in the water for me.
I feel this way.
But it does not feel romantic, so I accept that most people do not.
It was one of the biggest sacrifices for me to get married, because my husband wanted that „official contract“ and a joint name. Took 7 years to get onboard.
This is not about not loving, it is about the honesty of saying – we are together because we want to, and we look for a decent end once we stop wanting to be together. In my opinion.
And yes, this makes all the big life commitments hard, because they go against a deep rooted need for freedom which I cannot always indulge.
And I enjoy romantic gestures and all in love stories, as beautiful fantasies, so not sure if I would enjoy the plot you are telling about. I probably would from years down the road, seeing how this free relationship was successful. But it needs to work for both. My husband would have been unhappy without marriage, so I gave it to him and got used to it (knowing that you can always divorce, it is just more onerous than a simple separation). And enjoyed all the ease our legal framework offers to married couples in contracts and insurance etc.
I think this is a most reasonable position to hold in real life, and your need for freedom is very understandable.
But my personal preference in a romance novel is the escapism of happily-ever-after. I don’t want to feel that the hero or heroine is already anticipating a time when they might want to leave, or that the heroine wants commitment but the hero refuses to give it to her. To me, this happens often enough in real life that I just don’t want to see it in my, as you put it, beautiful fantasies.