Editorial Content for Queen of Lombard Street

Lisa Kleypas is one of the queens of romance, so it's exciting to read her first historical novel, QUEEN OF LOMBARD STREET. Not surprisingly it has more than a touch of romance in its pages. What Kleypas has accomplished here is to present readers with a group of characters who represent real historical figures, all of whom changed --- or helped to change --- the pervasive prejudice of that time period. Unfortunately, more change is needed.

Our protagonist is Reina Martin, whose mother was the mistress of a wealthy and successful businessman in London. Her mother was an acclaimed dancer in Spain who fell under the spell of a man and moved to London. He was married with children of his own, so when Reina was born, he was terrified that she would be seen and endanger his good name in London society.

Reina's childhood was lonely as her father was distant and her mother was preoccupied. But her mother did provide her with the finest tutors, and her education was equal to that of any boy, even after her father had forbidden her to study any classes but “women's” classes like painting and cooking. He assumed that Reina would grow up to be a courtesan, but instead she became a brilliant economist. Her ability to invest and speculate was almost otherworldly. In one year, she had a 900% return on investment, an unheard of accomplishment.

"Kleypas' writing chops are apparent throughout the novel. Her narrative and the dialogue are consistently compelling and draw us into the plot. But really good writers do more; their work includes lines that transcend the story and make us stop and think. Kleypas does that often here..."

But as the novel begins, Reina and June are in need of servants. June is Reina's friend from childhood who is studying cooking and taking care of Reina's meals while doing so. Reina has taken some of the money she made from her investing and a book she authored to buy a house. But employment agencies don't have people who want to work as servants. It's a demeaning job, and the conditions are brutal. Reina happens to see an advertisement about hiring paroled prisoners. She thinks it's a splendid idea in spite of June's antipathy to the concept.

So in a humorous turn of events, Reina ends up with a household of criminals. They appear to be unrepentant for the most part, and some are clearly a danger to others. But Reina is optimistic that they can live together and that the people she hired can be rehabilitated. At the same time, John Pembroke, a Manchester detective from Wales, is convinced to work undercover and apply for the position as butler in Reina's household. He is a detective and is assured that if he is able to get information about bank fraud that Reina's good friend and mentor, Thomas Farrow, is committing, he will get a promotion and a better job. Reina thinks he's a parolee like her other hires. He's also an excellent butler.

But people don't behave as expected. And Reina's misbegotten group of ne'er-do-wells demonstrate that fact. Kleypas describes each of the character's paths that led to their incarceration. She also excels at demonstrating how so many things about women and their independence has not changed in the past 150 years and that they are all too often punished even when they are the victims.

June explains why she's angry that she must have protection if she ventures out at night: “All my life, if I wanted to go somewhere, I had to take a man to protect me from other men. Here's an idea: Why don't all you men stop being so fu--in' dangerous?” Good question. It's a refrain that we see over and over on social media. Why should women have to protect themselves from men? Why should women have to behave in a certain way so they aren't accused of “asking for it”? Why are men simply not taught that women should be respected? That “no” means “no”? Why haven't things changed in centuries?

Kleypas' writing chops are apparent throughout the novel. Her narrative and the dialogue are consistently compelling and draw us into the plot. But really good writers do more; their work includes lines that transcend the story and make us stop and think. Kleypas does that often here, including when she writes, “It's in the quietest moments that our lives are most profoundly altered. Not in the firing of a weapon, but the decision to acquire it. Not the dropping of bombs, but the stroke of the pen that orders them.” Thought-provoking, indeed. Especially with the violence that occurs daily in our country and all over the world.

Again, comparing what has been the truth for centuries, Kleypas writes, “We're taught all our lives to put our faith in rich and powerful men. We want to believe they care about our interests and know what's best for us. But no one will admit the obvious: The very reason they're rich and powerful is because what they care about most is helping themselves.” And one event is something that was clearly drawn from current headlines (sarcasm intended): “(He) forced himself on a housemaid, got her with child, had her sent to prison for trying to defend herself, was ultimately responsible for her death in childbirth...and now you want to give him her baby?”

This book isn't just about women and their fight for independence and autonomy over their time, bodies and lives. It's about class structure, not only in terms of status, but also when it comes to wealth. And perhaps just as importantly, we see that a family is not necessarily those who share common ancestors or blood; it’s a group of people who care about, love and protect each other.

Read QUEEN OF LOMBARD STREET to enjoy this clever, touching novel about women's independence in a difficult time, but also to appreciate Kleypas' brilliant ability to show how little has changed --- and how much still must change.