Ah, the joys of anachronism. I’ve read historicals so charming that I totally ignored the fact that the heroines talked like me. And I’ve read books that ended up unfinished back at the library, or worse, heaved against a wall. Ms. Burrowes’ sophomore title tries really hard to be the former, but in the end, the vivacious, witty prose can’t make up for the story’s faults.

It seriously didn’t help that my expectations were very hopeful, The Heir having charmed me out of my pants. (Ha. I wish.) But after a pretty good opening, The Soldier wobbles on a wrong turn, and never really recovers.

We’ve got Devlin St. Just, newly minted Earl of Rosecroft, who bears very little resemblance to the crusty ex-soldier of the previous book. We’ve got six-year-old Winnie, bastard daughter of the old earl, who apparently comes along with the property and is so damn cute she’s clearly part cocker spaniel. And we’ve got Emmaline Farnum, the local baker and Winnie’s cousin and guardian. Emmie comes tearing into Rosecroft in a tizzy because she lost Winnie, and arrives to find the chickadee placidly eating a muffin. Up to this point, everything’s okay because Ms. Burrowes clearly knows how to write charm in spades, enough that I can forgive and forget a wealth of anachronistic sins – and believe me, the sins abound.

But then – then, Devlin says he feels responsible for Winnie, since she was the old earl’s progency. Emmie hems. Devlin holds his ground and ogles Emmie. Emmie haws. And within hours of meeting a total stranger, she leaves a child she raised from birth in the stranger’s home, and goes home.

No way. No frickin’ way I can forget that. I don’t care if he’s an earl. I don’t care if Emmie can magically sense that Devlin is okay. I don’t care that Emmie returns in a few days and stays at Rosecroft, and that unfolding events are told charmingly and wittily. I simply cannot take such a heroine seriously, because the prose can’t disguise character inconsistency.

Emmie is irresponsible, then she’s dutiful. She’s selfless, then she’s selfish. And on top of that, she has a Big Secret, which I totally guessed ages before the eleventh hour revelation, and which she totally should have revealed at, like, one o’clock.

It’s a shame, because The Soldier has its good points. Devlin St. Just is a man of many facets: Acknowledged bastard of a duke, new Earl of Rosecroft, celibate and scarred soldier, demonstrably loving brother, wounded inner child. Actually, I sometimes wondered if it wasn’t a bit too much, but hey, it’s nice not to read a hero who’s shallower than a teaspoon. Ms. Burrowes shows a deft hand at teasing out Devlin and Emmie’s relationship, and together, they are quite engaging.

But not engaging enough. Overall, The Soldier struck an uneven tone, and I found it only too easy to put it down. However, one hit and one miss aren’t terrible statistics for a new author, and you could do far, far worse.