A Royal Pain

For me, the title A Royal Pain (#249) describes the heroine of this book, Bronte Talbot, perfectly, and 338 pages is way too much time to spend with such an unpleasant, self-absorbed, potty-mouthed bitch.  The nineteenth Duke of Northrup is totally wasted on her, but by the end of this book, I was so tired of him putting up with her that I lost all interest in him, too.  The real fairy tale in this book is the unending and (always mind-blowingly incredible!) sex.

Bronte is such an emotional mess it's a wonder that she has any relationships at all, but that's the rather heavy-handed point made at the end of this story.  She's in a relationship with a Texan whom she gives up her fabulous New York City apartment and dream job to follow to Chicago, where she soon discovers she has always been simply the weekend diversion who has to pay to keep up with his spend-or-bust stockbroker's life style.  Everyone has tried to warn her... 

When she literally stumbles over Maxwell Heyward in a Chicago second hand bookstore, she thinks she's found her perfect Transitional Man to help her get over the Texas debacle.  Well, of course they fall madly in lust with each other, but he's returning to England in eight weeks, so no commitments, right?  Of course not!  When his father has a heart attack and Max asks her to go back to England with him, she refuses.  Agony, agony, agony on both sides.  And the nerve of him not telling her he was a duke related to the royal family!  She puts so many obstacles in Max's way and is stunned every time when he is impatient with her attitude.  It's all quite ridiculous.  Either commit or cut him loose.  There just doesn't seem to be any way to make Bronte happy until the author ties up her dysfunctional family relationships in one neat little bow at the very end, and we're now supposed to believe  that a wedding will proceed, she'll be an ideal mother and everything will be hunky dory.  I don't buy that for a moment.

I was really looking forward to reading this book, since, like Bronte herself supposedly, I've always been an Anglophile.  (But here's another thing that annoyed me about this book: Megan Mulry makes such a big deal about Bronte's obsession as an adolescent with British society gossip magazines -Hello!, British Vogue, etc. - that it struck me as ludicrous that Bronte wouldn't have known instantly who Maxwell Heyward was - the heir to the Duke of Northrup, and a frequently pictured royal connection in said publications.)  I guess I expected something along the lines of an updated Regency romance, but with Bronte having a job and a contemporary wardrobe.  Far from it.  I thought it was tedious and unsatisfying.  I kept hoping Bronte would grow up emotionally and that it would get better.   In my opinion it didn't.  I should have known when I saw the cover art.  The book jacket says "It's not easy being common", but the photo they used certainly succeeds - ugh!  My recommendation?  Find something more entertaining to read and don't waste your time on this one.  (Unless, of course, you just want to check  it out for the myriad sex scenes...)