If the character is written well, the advantage to a downtrodden heroine is that I feel genuinely glad when her fortunes take a permanent upturn, but if she's too downtrodden, she apes the hearthrug. And if the hero is doing a lot of the trodding, then I can't help feeling she could have done better for herself.

Four years earlier Verity Scott watched her father lowered into the ground when a man appeared and helped her plant bluebells at her father's grave. He later took her back to her cottage, fed her, watched over her as she slept, and was gone by morning. Left with no family but a mean uncle and aunt, she is taken into their household as an unpaid maid and general dogsbody. Four years later, her aunt and uncle are holding a house party, and to Verity’s surprise one of the guests is the man from the night of her father's burial.

The man, Max, Earl Blakehurst, who served under Verity's father on the continent and came unexpectedly into his title, never forgot the sad waif he looked after. Now he accepts the family's invitation to enquire after Verity, now calling herself Selina and sharing scant resemblance to the young 15-year-old. They share an unexpected sympathy, but a series of events leads to Verity first offering to become his mistress, then when Blakehurst discovers her identity, their marriage.

Frankly, it's all quite unnecessarily complicated. If Max and Verity didn't create all these misunderstandings and angst there wouldn't be a plot, which feels damned manipulative. And yet their actions and emotions do make sense, to a certain point. Verity has been smothering her guilt over her part in her father's suicide and has almost no self-esteem. She hasn't been happy in years, and longs for a family and home. Simple enough and not terribly complex, but she shows her strength in ways that can either be interpreted as disgustingly martyring or admiringly generous. Either way she comes perilously close to doormat-dom, but saves herself with some well-timed shows of spirit. But I would have been happier seeing her clobber Max occasionally.

Max. Ah yes, Max. In some ways he and Verity are made for each other because they both harbor guilt over events that are not of their responsibility, which is painfully obvious to everyone but themselves. In Max's case it is an accident that resulted in his twin brother's crippling. When his mother was on her deathbed she wrenched a promise from him to save the title for his twin. Which means, of course, that he can't marry, and if he marries he can't consummate the marriage. And which means he'll behave like a bastard to Verity, who naturally trapped him into marriage. And which means he can't fall in love with her. Of course.

However, there is some good writing in this book, and Ms. Rolls manages to save Max from total stupidity, just as she saves Verity from spiritless generosity. Within the scope of the book, the couple's misunderstandings make sense and don't last long, but there were too many of them to merit a recommendation. And I did get that gut-wrenching feeling more than once, although it was significantly tempered by the thought that much of it was a result of reader manipulation rather than true feeling. Max does grovel well, but it would have been much more pleasant if he hadn't needed to grovel. Bottom line: I hate feeling manipulated, and that's how I felt. But I'll give Ms. Rolls another try in the hopes I'll feel differently next time.