Heyer at her worst — clichéd, biased, snub-nosed, with one-dimensional characters and a mystery whose solution is staring you in the face virtually from page 1. I only finished it for confirmation that my guess was correct (which, dare I say “of course”, it was), but it was a struggle of the sort I’ve never experienced with Heyer before (ETA: or since — and I’ve read all of her mysteries in the interim). Also, this book hasn’t aged well at all — and Ulli Birvé hits a new low in the narration.
Oh well. Two nonseries mysteries to go, and I’ll be done with Georgette Heyer’s crime fiction!