Sunday, January 11, 2015

Devil's Cub

Devil's CubDevil's Cub by Georgette Heyer
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Something about a dreary and frigid January makes me want to indulge in a literary escape. What I wanted was a book that would entertain and be utterly removed from reality, without being insipid. Anyone for Georgette Heyer?

If the plot of Devil's Cub makes you roll your eyes, you are forgiven. It's not the plot but the characters that delight. And what characters!

Mary Challoner:
She had, moreover, grave disadvantages. Those fine eyes of hers had a disconcertingly direct gaze, and very often twinkled in a manner disturbing to male egotism. She had common-sense too, and what man wanted the plainly matter-of-fact, when he could enjoy instead Sophia's delicious folly? Worst of all she had been educated at a very select seminary--Mrs Challoner was sometimes afraid that she was almost a Bluestocking.

Sophia Challoner:
She had a frippery brain, but she could dance very prettily, and knew just how to drive a man to desperation, so that it really did not matter in the least that she was amazingly ignorant, and found the mere writing of a letter the most arduous task.

Leonie, Duchess of Avon:
The Duchess had cast off her cloak, and seated herself by the fire. 'Ah, bah, I do not want your ratafia, me. I will drink a glass of port with you, mon vieux.'

Lord Rupert scratched his head, tilting his wig slightly askew. 'Oh, very well! But it's not what I'd call a lady's drink.'

'Me, I am not a lady,' announced her grace. 'I have been very well educated, and I will drink port.'


Juliana Marling:
Paris had gone to Miss Marling's head, and the attentions of such a known connoisseur as the Vicomte De Valme could not but flatter her. The Vicomte protested that his heart was under her feet. She did not entirely believe this, but a diet of admiration and compliments spoiled her for the criticisms of Mr Comyn.

Frederick Comyn:
If Mr Comyn, later, had seized her in his arms in a gently romantic fashion there would have been an end to the Vicomte's flirtation. But Mr Comyn was deeply hurt, and he did not recognize in these signs a perverted expression of his Juliana's love for him. He was young, and he handled the affair very ill. He was forbearing where he should have been violent, and found fault when he should have made love. Miss Marling determined to teach him a lesson.

Lord Rupert Alastair:
Lord Rupert stopped swinging his eyeglass, and said indignantly: 'Damme, I'd not be married by this fellow if I were you, Vidal. Not that I'm saying you should be married at all, for the thing's preposterous.'

Vidal shrugged. 'What do you suppose I care for his opinion of me so long as he does what I want?'

'Well, I don't know,' said his lordship. 'Things are come to a pretty pass, so they are, when any plaguey parson takes it on himself to preach a damned sermon to your face. Why, in my father's time--you never knew him: devilish bad-tempered man he was--in his time, I say, if the chaplain said aught he didn't like--and from the pulpit, mind you!--he'd throw his snuff-box at him, or anything else he had to hand…Now what's to do?'


Justin Alastair, Duke of Avon:
The gentleman opened his snuff-box, and took a pinch delicately. 'If you succeeded in protecting your virtue, my dear Miss Challoner, I can readily believe--knowing his lordship--that your methods must have been exceedingly drastic. You perceive me positively agog with curiosity.'

'I shot him,' she said bluntly.

The hand that was raising the pinch of snuff to one nostril was checked for a brief moment. 'Accept my compliments,' said the gentleman calmly, and inhaled the snuff.


The Devil's Cub AKA Dominic Alastair, Marquis of Vidal:
My lord said, amongst other things, that he did not propose to burden the doctor with the details of his genealogy. He consigned the doctor and all his works, severally and comprehensively described, to hell, and finished up his epic speech by a pungent and Rabelaisian criticism of the whole race of leeches.

Whereupon the doctor, who had listened rapt to the unfaltering diatribe, said with enthusiasm: 'But it is wonderful! An Englishman to have so great a command of the French tongue! It is what compels the admiration! I shall now bleed you. Madame will have the goodness to hold the basin. The English have such phlegm!'


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