A dance of love and power: Kelly Scarborough's Butterfly Games

Might you be interested in reading about a tender friends-to-lovers romance between two attractive young people, the complicated repercussions of their secret affair, and a damaging whisper network spreading rumors amongst their families and the country’s royal court – all set in the sparkling world of the early 19th-century nobility?

There’s even a meddlesome Queen Charlotte in the background.

If you’re picturing Regency England and Bridgerton, think again – and head northeast. Butterfly Games centers on the forbidden love story between Countess Jacquette Gyldenstolpe and the young man once known as Oscar Bernadotte, now the heir to Sweden’s newly elected crown prince.

It’s based in history, with reasonable liberties taken to fill in gaps.

As historical fiction fodder, this story offers ample material. In her author’s note, Kelly Scarborough reveals how she came up with her subject after reading Annemarie Selinko’s classic Desiree – about the unlikely rise to prominence of Prince Oscar’s mother – and how she immersed herself in the history and culture of Napoleonic-era Sweden to write Jacquette’s story. The result is a thoroughly engaging work of biographical fiction that digs deep in revealing her protagonists’ vulnerabilities and how larger political forces shift the course of their connection.

Jacquette and Oscar first meet in 1811 on the grounds of Drottningholm Palace, the royal household’s summer residence near Stockholm. Though only fourteen, Jacquette already knows she hates court life. She comes from a family of scandalous women, including her mother, Aurora, whose divorce has set the tongues of the queen’s maids of honor (the “Chatterati”) atwitter – and Jacquette’s unhappy about being left with them while Aurora’s away traveling with her lover, Chancellor Wetterstedt. Born a French commoner, Oscar, two years younger, has all the cheekiness and emotional uncertainty of a typical adolescent and none of the airs of a prince.

Jacquette and Oscar commiserate about their broken families and share unguarded views on political notables. In exchange for his keeping a confidence, she agrees to his one request: “Always tell me the truth.” Both are bright and well-meaning, yet naïve, since truth and trust are rarities in a court where secrets and “butterfly games” – short-lived dalliances – are de rigueur.

Four years later, when their friendship turns into passionate love, they learn, with painful firsthand experience, how the predatory royal court strips away everyone’s innocence.

Jacquette is engaging from the start. Royal mistresses are commonplace in history and in fiction, yet her personality shines with her youthful exuberance and, later, her determination to keep her head above water and protect her closest secret. While her mother seeks to exploit Jacquette’s closeness to Prince Oscar for the family’s benefit, Jacquette does find several allies, including her outspoken maid, Brita, and her stepfather, Wetterstedt, surprisingly a better father figure than her own father ever was. The author’s use of close third person to evoke Jacquette’s mindset is very effective, so the move into Jacquette’s first-person voice just for Part Four is jarring. The move into present tense afterward is less noticeable, but still feels unnecessary.

Political intrigue, ever-present, adds suspense. The former Crown Prince Gustav has been living in exile since boyhood, when his father was deposed. His potential return is desired by some, and dreaded by others. Because we stay within Jacquette’s viewpoint – knowing only what she knows and hears, as appropriate – we get a sufficient amount of knowledge about the current vs. former rulers of Sweden. On the other hand, for anyone curious about the complex circumstances that led Sweden to reject their monarch and elect one of Napoleon’s generals, Oscar’s father Marshal Bernadotte, to become heir presumptive to the throne as Crown Prince Charles Jean – you may want to do some outside reading.

One of the pleasures of reading this novel lies in seeing the many subtle channels through which power can flow, and in rooting for Jacquette as she develops the maturity to judge how best to react to them. The Swedish setting for Butterfly Games, an unusual one for Napoleonic-era fiction, has its own definite appeal.

Butterfly Games is published by She Writes Press this week; I read it from a NetGalley copy.

A dual-timeline Tudor novel: what worked and what didn't

Anne Brandon, eldest daughter of Henry VIII’s best friend and brother-in-law, was one of many aristocrats whose lives were torn apart by the king’s quest to divorce Katherine of Aragon. Turning the focus on Anne, as Alexandra Walsh does in her latest dual-timeline novel, illuminates a little-known story of marital strife, revenge, women’s resilience, and lasting love.

Anne grows up in the affectionate household of her Papa, Charles Brandon, and her stepmother, Mary Tudor. Her social position means she must marry a nobleman, and the partner chosen for her is Edward Grey, Baron Powis, even though Anne has always loved another. Edward’s taunts escalate to cruelty after Anne fails to give him a child.

The parallel narrative, set in 2024, features Caroline Harvey, whose reclusive late grandfather had authored a massively bestselling science fiction series. In researching the history of the remote Pembrokeshire woodlands that served as his writing nest, Caroline finds the ruins of a place called Hanworth House and investigates its provenance. In the process, Caroline reconnects with two old friends and deals with (or has her agent deal with; she’s a very wealthy woman) a difficult ex and his new girlfriend, who are squatters in Caroline’s London flat.

While Caroline’s narrative is interesting enough to hold attention, its ties to Anne’s story are loose—Caroline doesn’t make discoveries we don’t already know—and it’s frustrating to know that the author is withholding secrets about Caroline from the reader. For anyone who prefers historical over contemporary narratives, Anne’s tale can easily be enjoyed on its own. It offers a strong plot and a rewarding character arc for Anne, from her changing observations about the scandal-ridden royal court to her complex relationship with her charming, flawed father.

Alexandra Walsh's The House of Echoes was published by Boldwood Books (UK) last January.  I reviewed it initially for the Historical Novel Society and thought I'd expand upon my reaction a bit more.

Novels with parallel narratives set at different points are time are popular, and some intertwine their storylines more closely than others.  Anne Brandon's life story, which I hadn't known before, is a real find for the historical novelist. The modern storyline here is also fully fleshed out.  All good.  But in this case, the strand featuring Caroline didn't feel structurally necessary.  

In addition, Rebecca Makkai's Substack post "Hold the Withholding" hit my inbox after I'd finished writing my review, and her comments crystallized my thoughts about why one aspect of the novel bothered me.

Makkai explains in detail what many writers hope to achieve through narrative withholding, and gives instances when (and why) it can be a problem. 

The modern storyline of The House of Echoes is told in third person from Caroline's viewpoint, and we're open to her thoughts... except about some major secrets she's keeping.  We're reminded about these secrets periodically, and we don't learn what they are until the big reveal at the end.  The intent may have been to create suspense, but this technique was too irritatingly coy for my taste.

That said, if you're interested in lesser-known Tudor stories, the novel's worth reading for that aspect alone, and I'd recommend checking it out.

A romance with Egypt: Katherine Kirkpatrick's To Chase the Glowing Hours

When your life’s most transfiguring experience occurs at age 21, where do you go from there? Do you spend your remaining years seeking to recapture its essence, or can you realistically move ahead, pursuing happiness in other directions?

And are you able to acknowledge the ethical quandaries tied to that shining moment and your family’s very involvement in it?

Pub. by Regal House (Sept. 2025)

Katherine Kirkpatrick’s To Chase the Glowing Hours addresses these themes beautifully in her portrayal of Lady Evelyn (Eve) Herbert, daughter of the Earl of Carnarvon, who was her father’s companion-assistant on his archaeological trips to Egypt.

In 1922, alerted by his longtime archaeologist, Howard Carter, to an impending major discovery, Carnarvon travels with Eve from their home at Highclere Castle in Hampshire, England, to Cairo and then to the Valley of the Kings, where they’re present as the splendor of treasures from the tomb of King Tutankhamun, buried underground for over three millennia, is revealed.

If the novel lingers over these descriptions, it’s no more than they deserve. As Eve glimpses a golden throne appear under her torchlight in the intense desert heat, sees a figurine’s glass eyes reflect as if alive, and detects the exquisite scent of oil preserved in alabaster vessels, we’re there alongside her, feeling her amazement and elation.

Eve also begins falling in love with the man who made it all happen. The handsome, much older Carter is notoriously moody and antisocial, and he treats her with alternating affection and formality. Of the two, only she is unaware that a relationship between them would never work.

The outside world soon intrudes in the form of a governmental inspector assigned to the excavation, Egyptian nationalists wanting the British ejected from their country, and a particularly pushy journalist (since Carnarvon gave his competitors at The Times an exclusive). Eve’s father, too, is obviously ill. In addition to having his costs recompensed, Carnarvon’s prior agreements regarding the tomb would have half the artifacts coming directly to him—which he’s counting on—a typical colonialist sentiment of the period.

An aristocrat eager to support her beloved father, Eve feels this is only fair; the idea of Egyptian treasures belonging solely to Egypt is utterly foreign. Her feelings shift at a sensible pace for someone of her upbringing. Once back at Highclere, she also starts having unexpected feelings for her brother’s friend, Brograve Beauchamp, a potential suitor who sees things differently.

In terms of excitement, Eve’s Downton Abbey-style life at Highclere (the model for the estate in the TV show) can’t compete with her adventures in Egypt, but that’s likely the point. Though her life in either locale is far from what most of us will ever experience ourselves, the medium of fiction brings us into her world as she copes with multiple losses and develops a mature outlook that will stand her well in the future.

To Chase the Glowing Hours was published by Regal House in September 2025, and I reviewed it from a NetGalley copy. This is one of several recent novels about Lady Eve, including Gill Paul's The Collector's Daughter (2021) and Marie Benedict's Daughter of Egypt (2026).

New Year, new platform - Reading the Past is now also on Substack

Best wishes for a good upcoming year, as well as great reading to all of you for 2026! Thanks for following my posts. I always enjoy hearing from everyone, so please feel free to comment or reply with your own thoughts and reading recommendations.

For the last few months, I’ve been pondering the future of Reading the Past and where I’d like to take it. While I appreciate that the platform has been free, the Blogspot/Blogger interface has become antiquated and limiting. I haven’t been able to update the layout for years without risking the loss of important content. It’s not mobile-friendly, and it takes messing with HTML to get pictures and text to center correctly. I’m also under no illusion that Google will keep Blogger around forever. In addition, the Mailchimp software I use for email subscribers, which stopped being free around a year after I adopted it, is functional, but more cumbersome than it needs to be for admins.

About a year ago, I opened an account at Substack since many of my email subscriptions were on that platform, and I wanted to keep track of them all. I claimed a domain there since it asked me for a name, but I didn’t do anything as far as publishing on Substack. Until I had some downtime over the recent holiday break and got to exploring the options a little further. Before, the idea of migrating to a new platform, maybe paying $$$ for a redesign, had been daunting… but according to their Help files, Substack could automate the migration from Blogger.

So I tried it, and within a few hours, most of my 1,969 posts, covering the past twenty years, were copied over to Substack. (All but 53 of them. I don’t know which 53 are missing, which will haunt me, but I’ll learn to live with it.) I love the colorful new layout and its ease of use for subscriber management, and I’m getting familiar with the posting process.

My posts, now on Substack

 

The plan is for my Substack to act as a mirror of the Blogger version of Reading the Past going forward, so if you subscribe via email, you now have options. If you prefer to stick with your current newsletter format, you’re good. It isn’t going away. But if you’d prefer to move to Substack, you can unsubscribe from this site (I won’t judge you) and sign up there at:

https://readingthepast.substack.com

 
If you’re already subscribed to Reading the Past on Substack, even though there wasn’t much to look at until a few days ago, thank you! For those currently subscribed to both, you'll probably want to unsub from one or the other since, apart from the post you’re reading now, you’ll get duplicate content in your inbox if you don’t. Either way, my posts will remain free to read.

Thanks again for reading, and wherever you plan to join me, I’m glad you’re here and look forward to sharing more reviews and historical fiction news in the coming year.

An intrepid female reporter investigates crime in Victorian Bristol in The Emerald Shawl

In 1864 Bristol, England, Miss Helen “Nelly” Brooks, first female reporter at the Courier, yearns to dig into meaty investigations but is limited to writing domestic pieces for the women’s page. So when she gets a note from a woman claiming knowledge of a “dreadful murder,” Nelly feels she’s struck gold.

Seamstress Eliza Morgan, huddled in a green shawl in the saloon bar where they meet, tells a fantastic story that feels like a scam: a prominent man’s wife and newborn have been killed, but she won’t reveal their identity to Nelly, or the woman’s secret diary, without being paid. Eliza also has a healthy appetite for gin and claims to have seen the murdered woman’s ghost.

Pub. by Boldwood Books 

The next day, Eliza’s body is found floating in the harbour: had she fallen in drunk, or was she offed by the man she claims was following her? Now there are three people for whom Nelly feels pressed to seek justice.

Douglas draws on Nellie Bly’s real-life story—Nelly’s American counterpart from a generation later—while creating a kaleidoscopic tour through Victorian fiction tropes. We have séances, body snatching, mistreatment of women by powerful men, Upstairs/Downstairs relationships, and a manor house full of secrets. Many character names (Mr. Snitch, Mrs. Augur) feel rather Dickensian. Unlike Miss Bly, who went undercover in an asylum, our Nelly has survived one, having been incarcerated for a decade by her parents after bearing her lover’s illegitimate daughter.

The novel is highly derivative of many sources, but when it homes in on the central mystery, the plot grabs hold, continuing through its surprising resolution. While reckless at times (accompanying your main suspect into his carriage isn’t super smart), Nelly’s determination to regain her child is laudable, and the setting—Bristol rather than the typical London—adds originality.

The Emerald Shawl was published by Boldwood Books (UK) in July.  Douglas is a prolific author of mysteries and Gothic novels, though this is the first of her books I've read.  

In the shadows of great art: Rembrandt's Promise by Barbara Leahy

This beautifully composed debut by Irish writer Leahy plunges readers into the world of Geertje Dircx, a nursemaid in Rembrandt’s household who became his lover after his wife’s death and challenged him in court after he abandoned his pledge to marry her. Geertje was treated poorly by her male contemporaries, her reputation tarnished while Rembrandt’s continued to rise. With richly textured detail, Leahy re-creates Geertje’s life and milieu, revealing her perspective and handling her story with the utmost respect.

It’s March 1642 when Geertje’s brother, Pieter, delivers her, a poor widow in her early thirties, to the wealthy artist’s Amsterdam home to tend to his infant son, Titus. She settles well into her new life, loving Titus as she might have loved her own son had he lived, and establishing a rapport with other servants. She also cares for her pretty, high-born mistress, who suffers from ill health.

Geertje admires her talented master from a distance, but after Rembrandt’s wife dies from tuberculosis three months later, she succumbs to the pull of connection and begins an affair with him, against her family’s warnings. She remains his secret mistress for years, believing his word that he’ll make her his wife, until a new maid, Hendrickje Stoffels, supplants her in his affections.

Notably, for a novel with a celebrated painter as a major figure, Rembrandt’s work isn’t centered. However, Geertje observes her surroundings with her own artistic eye. We feel the prickliness of her straw-filled bed tick, see the bustling trade along the canal, hear the regular chimes from the Zuiderkerk. She’s outwardly a reserved woman, making her heartbreak over the failed affair more profound.

Her female friends, including her outspoken, take-charge cousin Trijn, a wonderful character, provide moral support following all the betrayals she endures. Despite everything, Geertje remains determined to fight for what she’s owed. A transfixing read.

Rembrandt's Promise appeared from Eriu, the Dublin-based imprint of Bonnier Books UK, in March 2025.  I reviewed it from a personal copy for the Historical Novel Society.  Interestingly I have another novel on my shelves, still unread, which may serve as a counterpoint to this one: Rembrandt's Mirror by Kim Devereux, the story of Hendrickje Stoffels.  If you've read either, let me know what you think!

Lorena Hughes' The Queen of the Valley takes an entertaining trip to 1920s Colombia

Martin Sabater, owner of a cacao plantation near Cali, Colombia, in 1925, has disappeared after organizing a fundraising gala to support his old boarding school. His absence creates hardships for some, and opportunities for others.

After months pass without the cacao bean shipments that supply her chocolate shop, Maria Purificacíon de Lafont, called Puri, travels from Ecuador to find out what happened to her friend and former lover. Following circumstances on the way that are both terrible and kind of wacky, Puri arrives at her destination wearing a nun’s habit. She decides staying in disguise is her best hope for learning the truth.

Pub. by Kensington (2023)

In his absence, Martin’s hacienda has been transformed into a hospital, and everyone avoids conversations about him. Even more, Puri seems to have landed into a smoldering pit of tension, one stemming from jealousies, family resentments, and love affairs gone wrong. Living in and around the place are its purported new owner, Arab Colombian physician Farid Manzur; his sister Camila, an actual nun caring for cholera patients; and photographer Lucas Ferreira, boyhood friend of Martin and Farid, who still carries a torch for Camila.

That’s just a sampling of the goings-on in this entertaining concoction of a novel. Between all the relationships and flashbacks, keeping track of the nested subplots demands focused attention, so it doesn’t help that the three first-person voices (Puri, Lucas, and Camila) sound too similar. The energetic storyline keeps humming along, though, amid Puri’s snooping around and faking her way through nunhood. Plus, the earthquake that hit southwestern Colombia at the time literally shakes things up.

This was written as a sequel to the author’s The Spanish Daughter (see my review), which you don’t need to have read, but if you want the scoop on Puri and Martin’s past history, it’s worth checking out first. As always, Hughes mixes comedic and tragic moments without diminishing the impact of either. Life being what it is, there are times when it doesn’t work out, but you also get the sense she wants to give her characters happy endings whenever possible.

The Queen of the Valley was published by Kensington in 2023.  I'm continuing with my quest to review older NetGalley requests with the goal of getting my ratio up to 90%.  Slowly getting there!