Compared to the Royal Pavilion performances of Heyer, this Regency romance is a mere penny whistle, lacking period tone and melodic patois. The rogue reformed is Lord Chievely, whose family once owned Monksford, an estate now peeling on every pilaster because the present owner, poor sensible Constance, plagued with the supervision of a gaming uncle and a young sister, is down to selling the family jewels. Handsome Chievely, abetted by said Uncle, sets out to win Connie, who despises him by reputation although she's never set eyes on the Lord. She will, as Chievely woos under an alias. You know the rest. A subordinate, unfortunate element is an American duo, mother and daughter, whose speech (remember this is 1816) seems to come by way of a celluloid Cheyenne: ""Now you're talkin'. That's a ripsnorter."" In toto, rather light on the hoof.