Fans of Sally MacKenzie’s Widow’s Brew series have been waiting for this moment. Jo, the widowed Lady Havenridge, has appeared in the series' previous two books as a woman who seemed to have it all figured out. The founder and leader of the Benevolent Home for the Maintenance and Support of Spinsters, Widows, and Abandoned Women and their Unfortunate Children, she has established not only a sanctuary for women and girls with nowhere else to go, but also a thriving business as the women operate their own brewery. She has work, purpose, a home and a community, but now it’s finally time for her to find love. And perhaps it’s a testament to how rare and special her situation is that love and matrimony—the longed-for prize of every young miss in Regency society—holds little appeal for her. She doesn’t actually say that she needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, but the implication is there.

However, in Cheers to the Duke, the right man is quite forcefully ushered in. Edward, the Duke of Grainger, is a solicitor from an obscure branch of the family tree who unexpectedly inherited the title (think Matthew Crawley from "Downton Abbey"). The search for a bride, someone to step into the shoes of his dearly loved first wife as Edward’s partner and mother to his young, sensitive son, has not gone well. Thrust into society’s so-called graces, he is fawned over by empty-headed debutantes with hungry eyes on his title even as they turn up their noses at his common origins. But then he’s brought together with Jo at the christening of Viscount Hurley, their mutual godchild. And by “brought together,” I mean “all but locked into a closet together by their friends who’ve decided they’re perfect for each other.” Edward is quick to agree that Jo is just what he needs—in his home, his heart and his bed. (His son, Thomas, is instantly on board as well, and in one of the sweeter moments in the story, actually proposes that Jo become his mother even before Jo and Edward officially meet.) Jo, on the other hand, is harder to convince.

In a genre as well-trod as Regency romance, there's much pleasure to be found in stories that subvert expectations, and this story (this series!) definitely accomplishes that. Rather than a society-defying rake who is tamed by love, MacKenzie features capable heroines who defy social norms and require heavy persuasion before they’ll give in to the virtues of wedded life and love. There’s no villain in the story, no rigidly disapproving family member interfering with the course of true love, no moustache-twirling scoundrel attempting to compromise or disgrace the heroine. The only roughness in the course of true love comes from the fact that Jo genuinely needs convincing that marriage is something she’d ever want, even with the perfect man. Her independence is both admirable and refreshing. The response of the other characters to that independence is . . . a bit less endearing. Like Bridget Jones, I’m not often a fan of “smug marrieds” who are convinced that no one can be both happy and single, and the other guests at the christening celebration lean a little far into that mindset. There could have been a bit less well-intentioned matchmaking, and a bit more genuine respect for Jo’s choices (there were a few too many conversations where she got steamrolled).

Still, the energy of the story is infectious, evoking the feeling of a family reunion where everyone’s truly glad to see one another. For those hoping for a happy conclusion to these characters and their adventures in brewing, the final Widow's Brew novel delivers love, laughter and libations.

Anne Gracie’s excellent new romance, The Scoundrel’s Daughter, accomplishes the tricky task of telling two love stories within one book.

It begins with a goose, which Gerald Paton, Viscount Thornton, almost crashes his curricle to avoid running over. However, it is the goose girl who truly raises his ire by lecturing him on his reckless driving.

The goose girl, Lucy Bamber, has always been left behind with friends or distant relatives of her destructive, deviant father, Octavius. Deadened by constant rejection and resentment, she is immature and surly with everyone. After multiple unfortunate experiences with high and mighty (or, even worse, handsy) lords, she sees nothing wrong with taking Gerald down a peg.

Lucy and Gerald’s paths would never have crossed again if not for Octavius, who returns to Lucy’s life and ropes her into his latest scheme. He’s come into possession of some scandalous letters that could ruin Alice, Lady Charlton’s life. The widowed Alice has been forced to sell her household goods in order to pay off the debts of her selfish, profligate but thankfully dead husband. Lucy’s father threatens the already-vulnerable Alice with the release of her husband’s scandalous letters to his mistress unless she agrees to not only bring Lucy out into society, but to get her married to a lord.

As it turns out, Alice is Gerald’s aunt, and when she turns to him for help, he realizes that his aunt’s new charge is the goose girl who cost him his latest race. At first, Gerald believes that Lucy is a fraud who is preying on his beloved aunt. But as he gets to know Lucy, he quickly realizes that she is as much a victim in this scheme as anyone. His protective instincts roused, Gerald turns to his former commanding officer, James, Lord Tarrant, for help.

Both of the love stories in The Scoundrel’s Daughter are compelling, but Alice and James’ hesitant, hard-won romance is especially moving. Alice brimmed with life before her marriage, but her husband ruined her confidence and self-esteem by cruelly deriding her and flaunting his relationship with his mistress. The widowed father of three young girls, James has resigned his commission in the army to dedicate himself to his daughters. Gracie makes it clear from the very beginning that his take-charge attitude has been tempered with deep empathy. James’ patience allows him to see beyond Alice’s prickly demeanor, and he is consistently understanding of her fears surrounding matrimony.

The Scoundrel’s Daughter viscerally examines how cruel actions and words from Lucy’s father and Alice’s husband destroyed their young minds and hearts. Gracie carves out space in both romances to demonstrate how both women’s personalities blossom because of the love and respect they’re shown from the new men in their lives and because of their friendship with one another. This only makes The Scoundrel’s Daughter’s balancing act all the more impressive: Within these two love stories, Gracie paints a beautiful portrait of two women becoming fuller, happier versions of themselves.

A Duke Worth Fighting For, the final book in Christina Britton’s Isle of Synne series, is a classic "Beauty and the Beast"-esque tale. Margery Kitteridge, the circumspect widow of a soldier who died at the battle of Waterloo, is challenged with aiding Daniel Hayle, the battle-scarred and socially inept Duke of Carlisle, with his matrimonial prospects.

Margery has received an anonymous blackmail note accusing her husband of cowardice and desertion. Desperate to preserve her beloved’s posthumous reputation, Margery is scrambling to come up with the funds to pay the blackmailer. She hits upon the idea of a trade with Daniel: She will help him find a bride in exchange for 100 pounds.

Daniel’s nights are ravaged by guilt, sorrow and nightmares from his experiences in the Napoleonic wars. His days are ravaged by pain and despair, both from his terrible scars and from the fact that he’s now unable to walk without aid. In one especially moving scene, he swims for the first time since Waterloo, and in the water, his body moves beautifully without pain or hindrance. Daniel cries in joy, relief and a whole host of other emotions. As Daniel and Margery spend more and more time together, it becomes clear that she is his perfect counterpart: stable and supportive, a secure sanctuary for a battered soul. Despite her still-present devastation and grief, Margery and Daniel start to build a relationship.

While aspects of A Duke Worth Fighting For evoke the "Beauty and the Beast" fairy tale and its recent adaptations (for example, there is a dashing, yet dastardly villain a la the Disney films' Gaston character), Britton imbues her novel with a gravitas and poignancy all its own. She sensitively explores how Daniel’s bodily injuries pale in comparison to those inflicted on his soul, balancing darker elements with his growing resiliency and Margery’s inspiring loyalty to the people she loves. A Duke Worth Fighting For is a truly worthy end to the Isle of Synne series.

The Princess Stakes contains several great love stories, and the book opens as one of them ends. We only get glimpses of a romance for the ages between a regal Indian maharaja and the English noblewoman who left everything behind to have a life by his side. We know they lived happily for a little while, but the happiness didn’t last. By the time we encounter the Maharaja of Joor, his beloved wife is dead, his authority has been drained away by the British and his precious daughter, Princess Sarani, has been forced into an engagement with the odious Lord Talbot. When the maharaja is betrayed and assassinated, Sarani must flee for her life.

And here’s where the book's grandest—and stormiest—love story starts, as Sarani’s desperate search for passage to her English family’s protection lands her on Rhystan Huntley’s ship. Rhystan, the Duke of Embry, despises Sarani for her duty-driven rejection of their love years earlier. Will sparks fly as the pair reunites? They will. Will the journey to England be fraught with tension, bickering and unrelenting desire? It will. And will Sarani's arrival in England create a tremendous splash when Rhystan—in a temporary deal that is intended to benefit them both—makes it known that they are engaged? Oh, it most definitely will.

There’s drama aplenty to be found in this romance, from disguised princesses to swashbuckling sailors to a highly publicized betting spree over which debutante will snag the handsome, eminently eligible Duke of Embry. Tempers run high, passions run hot and a mixture of greed, jealousy, prejudice and lust leads to more than one violent altercation from which Sarani and Rhystan must escape. The ton's small-mindedness and caustic disdain might make you wish that our hero and heroine would resort to violence themselves a little more often. (Trust me, some of those society folks have it coming.) But Sarani and Rhystan’s devotion to each other and to those dearest to them shines bright and fierce in contrast to the cowardly pettiness of those who try to undermine them. That love unites them against their foes and gives them the courage to push past their own fears and insecurities and embrace their happiness together.

Author Amalie Howard doesn’t shy away from showing the struggles a biracial character like Sarani would face, both in England and in India. Caught between two worlds, she’s viewed as not belonging enough to either to win true acceptance, but she finally finds the home she’s been searching for in Rhystan’s arms. Ultimately The Princess Stakes celebrates the power of love to win out again and again over hate: love for the person you trust to have your back; love for the family you are proud to claim; and love for yourself, exactly as you are.

The story starts with a tragedy. A ship sailing from Jamaica sinks just before it reaches England’s shore, leaving only two survivors. The first is a badly injured woman. The other is a baby girl, who is quickly deposited into the arms of Daniel Thackery, Earl of Ashbrook. He had come to the port to meet Phoebe Dunn, his bride-to-be. A baby wasn’t in his plans—but as the baby is a blackamoor (the Regency-era term for people with dark skin) like him, the sailors assume the child must be his. If he doesn’t claim the girl, who he can only assume was Phoebe’s daughter, she’ll be sent to an orphanage, or worse. Daniel is not one to leave an innocent without protection, so he adopts the baby and names her Hope.

Meanwhile, the other survivor, identified as Jemima St. Maur, can’t remember anything about her life before the shipwreck. Her only certainty, which comes from a place deeper than memory, is that her baby was taken from her. She’s filled with fear and despair, which only worsen when she’s committed to Bedlam—but, of course, she’s not in Bedlam for long. When Vanessa Riley’s An Earl, the Girl, and a Toddler picks back up two years later, Jemima has become the toast of society. She has her pick of suitors, even if the only one who catches her eye is the barrister who secured her release and restored her to the ton—none other than Daniel himself.

It sounds like a setup straight out of a Hollywood movie, as Daniel rescues Hope, then Jemima, with the tantalizing possibility that the three of them are meant to be a family. While there’s a lot of humor and playfulness (Jemima’s letters to Daniel are highly entertaining), Riley doesn’t pull her emotional punches. An Earl opens on a powerful note, with Daniel waiting in line at the dock, seeing each person ahead of him grapple with the sight of the name of a loved one on the casualty list. When the narrative shifts to Jemima, alone and afraid in the hospital, the stakes only grow more intense.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Vanessa Riley explores the many layers of a Black aristocrat's experience in the Regency.

As the romance between Jemima and Daniel progresses, the heaviest weight comes from their vulnerabilities. Though Daniel is wealthy, educated, clever, kind and truly gentlemanly, he lives with the constant knowledge that as a Black man, any toe out of line could result in all his status and privilege being stripped away. Riley dispels the myth of the all-white Regency—people of color rose to the titled elite in this and in many other historical periods—while also refusing to diminish or gloss over an iota of the bigotry and judgment a blackamoor earl would face.

Jemima’s horrible experiences in Bedlam hang over her, shadowing not just how others perceive her but how she perceives herself and the security of her position. She was committed by an associate of her family, less because of her amnesia and more because it was convenient for her to be out of the way. With a clear and all-too-personal understanding of how easy it is for a woman to be committed to an asylum, she carries a fearful certainty that what happened before could happen again.

It’s no wonder that trust is a major theme of this romance. It’s not an easy thing for Daniel or Jemima to offer, not with so many people lined up to judge them. Their hesitance to trust each other can get a bit frustrating at times, but Riley makes it clear that they have good reason for their reservations. Love wins out over fear in the sweet ending—and the truth of what happened the day the ship sank, even when it’s not quite what anyone expected, sets them both free.

Eloisa James returns to the adventures of her wonderful Wildes in Wilde Child, a sparkling Georgian romance between an unconventional, theater-loving heroine and a stuffy viscount.

Lady Joan Wilde’s reputation has always preceded her. Her golden blond hair (courtesy of her mother’s affair with a Prussian aristocrat) marks her as an illegitimate daughter, and her parentage is constantly whispered about among high society. Thankfully, Joan has a loving family who doesn’t mind embracing her eccentric ways, as Wilde Child continues to showcase the supportive familial bonds that readers love and have come to expect from this series.

Joan has grown up loving the stage, often performing for her family in the privacy of their home at Lindow Castle. In true Joan fashion, she wants to shake things up a bit and take the leading role in a local theater troupe’s production of Hamlet. However, a woman in breeches, front and center in a Shakespeare play, is asking for scandal. Joan is unabashedly herself, and her tenacity and passion for acting make her the star of every scene. She is a whimsical departure from the shy wallflowers that so often populate the subgenre, with often hilarious results.

Unfortunately, Joan’s brash personality is the bane of Thaddeus Erskine Shaw’s existence. As Viscount Greywick and heir to the Duke of Eversley, Thaddeus shouldn’t be seen with the likes of Joan. She consistently gets under his skin, and he is baffled by the way such an unconventional woman snatches his attention like no one else. His solution is to help the Wildes find a suitable husband for Joan, but before she’ll even consider marriage, she wants to make her dream of performing come true. Thaddeus’ solution is to protect and accompany Joan during the play’s production in a neighboring village, but enacting such a plan puts Thaddeus and Joan in rather close quarters.

Thaddeus’ slow burn for Joan is something to be savored, especially for readers who love to watch a buttoned-up hero slowly come undone. James dials Thaddeus’ inner yearning up to 11, while Joan can’t help herself from teasing the stalwart, seemingly unmoved viscount. Thaddeus’ process of loosening his tight grip upon his conduct (with the help of Joan’s insistent presence) is a welcome foil to the often entertainingly outlandish Wilde household.

James’ writing shines when her characters don’t take themselves too seriously, and the Wilde clan’s infectious energy is the epitome of delightful. Overflowing with tried-and-true romance tropes like opposites attract and secret pining, Wilde Child proves that sometimes there’s no need to reinvent the wheel. The wheel can roll right along if it continues to produce this caliber of happily ever after.

Lady Elysande de Valance finds love in the arms of a Highlander in Lynsay Sands’ suspenseful 14th-century romance, Highland Treasure.

Elysande is the intelligent and beloved daughter of a wealthy family loyal to King Edward III. Though she’s lived in England all her life, Elysande’s Scottish-born mother, Lady Mairghread de Valance, Baroness of Kynardersley, has long maintained close ties with friends and families in the land of her birth. So when unexpected political intrigue lands the family in grave danger, Elysande places her hope in the most trustworthy men she knows.

Rory Buchanan is a renowned healer and the seventh son of the illustrious Buchanan clan. Although he’s generally loathe to spend any time in England, he makes an exception to cure ailing British aristocrats. The extravagant pay funds the work he does back home and helps him build the independent fortune he will need to secure his own way in the world as a younger son. When trouble strikes Elysande’s family, he has just finished treating an English baron and is well positioned to assist. Along with his brother Alick and several of their men from home, he commits to getting Lady Elysande and the critical cargo she carries to her Scottish kin.

But the mission is not as simple as it sounds. Intrigue swirls around them. Betrayal stalks them. It’s not always clear who’s a friend and who’s a foe, and Lady Elysande has been beaten so badly that when she and Rory first meet, she’s being carried in the back of a cart and wearing a full veil to obscure the damage done to her face. While the brutality of what she’s been through is disturbing, it’s also crucial to the story Sands is telling. Much like the infamous Red Wedding or Bran being thrown from the tower in “Game of Thrones,” what happens at Kynardersley (the de Valence’s family seat) animates everything that comes after. Elysande’s condition complicates an already physically grueling journey, and for a long time, no one, including Rory, can see what she really looks like.

This also allows the connection between Elysande and Rory to grow in a unique way. They’re attracted to each other through conversation and collaboration. They forge a mutually respectful alliance and, eventually, a strong emotional connection without the barrier or benefit of her looks. Elysande may start out as a damsel in distress, but she inspires admiration rather than pity from those around her. That said, some readers may be uncomfortable with how Elysande is fairly explicitly framed as “not like other girls,” and with the fact that her trauma is repeatedly referenced and discussed. Overall, though, Highland Treasure is a page-turning, propulsive and, at times, bloody historical romance.

Sparks fly between an American woman and a charming British aristocrat when they’re thrown together by their parents’ plan for an advantageous marriage in Harper St. George’s The Heiress Gets a Duke.

August Crenshaw has seen the way marriages of convenience have run roughshod over her close friends, hurting them mentally, emotionally and even physically. She finds passion in numbers, risk assessment and her family’s iron works company. A husband would undoubtedly detail her career ambitions. She vows to never offer herself up as her family’s sacrifice, but worries that her parents’ restraint from using their daughters as pawns is coming to an end.

Evan Sterling, Duke of Rothschild, becomes the manager of the Rothschild estate after a series of devastating tragedies. His staid older brother dies suddenly, followed by his father, and the family’s financial situation is revealed to be truly dire. Evan and his mother realize that the quickest way to gain a fortune, especially as Evan’s twin sisters are set to debut the following year, is to marry. An American heiress will bring new money and steady income. Meanwhile, marrying a duke lends a sense of social capital to those who feel like longstanding institutions have been closed to them.

At first, it isn’t August on the chopping block, but her sweet younger sister, Violet, despite Violet having her own aspirations of becoming a writer and the interest of a man back in America. To protect her sister, August volunteers to take her place, much to the surprise and uncertainty of the meddling parents.

Wry, tenacious August isn’t exactly a friendly woman, but she is a memorable and well-crafted heroine. Prickly at best, she’s practical and often blunt with her words as she tries to get her family’s business taken more seriously. By contrast, Evan’s caring relationship with his mother is a cornerstone of his character (and provides some of the book’s best scenes). It’s lovely to see a mutually respectful and close relationship between a historical romance hero and his mother. And as a bonus, Evan moonlights as a prizefighter who fights shirtless and in tight breeches.

The Heiress Gets a Duke stands out from the crowded field of historical romance by combining old and new. St. George clearly has an appreciation for the genre, as the novel is reminiscent of historical classics that longtime romance readers have grown up with, but there are also meta moments of brilliance, as when August remarks on the amount of dukes available in England or the corniness of mysterious nicknames that just seem silly when said aloud.

Fun, tender and definitely sexy, The Heiress Gets a Duke is already at the top of my list for the best books of the year. Don’t sleep on this refreshing and feminist romance.

Susan Andersen’s latest release, The Ballad of Hattie Taylor, is a love letter to sweeping rural dramas like The Thorn Birds or Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books that straddles the line between historical romance and historical fiction.

Hattie Taylor has always felt like an outsider in Mattawa, Oregon. But a few people make her feel welcomed and loved, chief among them being Jacob Murdock. At the age of 11, Hattie was taken in by Jake’s mother, Augusta, despite her son’s reservations. As years pass, Hattie keeps her crush on Jake a secret, watching as he gets married and then must endure the untimely deaths of his wife and child. But now Hattie is an adult, and she hopes to make her intentions known to Jake.

Jake’s feelings for Hattie are complicated. Not only is he 11 years her senior, but he’s always seen her as a surrogate sister to be protected and watched over. They’ve always been close, but now that closeness seems to be turning into something more, spurred on by the loneliness and grief he feels.

This is a romance for the patient reader. Andersen covers a robust span of time as she explores the integral life experiences of her main characters. (Please also exercise some caution; someone close to the Murdock family rapes Hattie, and her process of healing is integral to the plot.) Mattawa is a small town, but its sprawling emotional landscape, full of complexities and characters, is as engrossing as the best afternoon soap opera. Andersen’s detailed approach to crafting a sense of place shines, particularly as she depicts the passing of each season.

Hattie and Jake’s romance is slow, thoughtful and meandering. Both are figuring out their lives and their identities. How does Jake handle the new role of widower? How will Hattie learn the differences between love and infatuation? Most notably, Hattie’s journey includes the very frustrating realization that she lives in a world ruled by men, most of whom have no care for her own thoughts and feelings. The line between empowerment and disillusionment is a fine one, and Andersen’s acknowledgement of that difficulty makes Hattie’s story all the more memorable.

The Ballad of Hattie Taylor oozes nostalgia even as it vacillates from a lively, page-turning coming of age story, a tender romance that emphasizes care and patience, and a harrowing tale of one woman’s experiences on the American frontier. Hattie’s happy ending with Jake is hard won, but her infectious optimism will have readers with her every step of the way.

There are quite a lot of truths to learn about Robert, Duke of Rothhaven, the hero of Grace Burrowes’ latest Regency romance. It’s true that he’s handsome. It’s very true that he’s rich. It’s very, very true that he’s clever. But the most surprising truth about him—the secret concealed from society—is that all Robert’s advantages are countered by the strain of severe physical and emotional disorders. The physical ailments are the result of inherited epilepsy triggered by severe childhood head injuries. The emotional problems . . . well, those result from the barbaric “care” he received in the institution that was paid lavishly to keep the so-called family embarrassment hidden away. After his brother found and rescued him from the wretched facility, his fears and phobias kept him isolated from the world for several years. By the time The Truth About Dukes opens, Robert has summoned the courage to step forward from the shadows for his brother’s sake. The truth even he would have struggled to believe about himself is that love is waiting for him out in the light.

Constance Wentworth knows quite a bit about dukes, and not just because the Duke of Walden is her overprotective brother. She’s well-acquainted with Robert as well, from a time when she was fleeing her own uncomfortable truths and wound up working as a maid at the facility where he was kept. A bond formed between them then that endures when they meet again in society, and it’s immediately clear just how good they are for each other. She defends him, he steadies her; she accepts him, he challenges her. She teaches him to trust himself, he teaches her that it’s all right to trust others. Love (kind of literally) blossoms easily. Happily ever after? That’s another story—and what a terrific story it is!

Sensitive readers should be aware that The Truth About Dukes doesn’t hesitate to poke into dark corners. The horror of mental health care in the Regency period is unflinchingly portrayed, although descriptions of the more brutal “treatments” are mercifully brief, and Constance's childhood was violent. But the trials Robert and Constance have faced only highlight their strength and resilience as a family. Their love for each other is fierce and lovely, and their fight to defend it is inspiring. It’s a wonderful ray of hope to read a story like this where tremendous obstacles are overcome through faith, family and a true and deep devotion.