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Venetia would be one of my favorite Heyers if it didn't start with a scene that would meet the legal requirements of sexual assault. Rakish Lord Damerel sees a beautiful girl in a rumpled dress picking blackberries on his land, assumes she is a tenant or country girl, and then

Venetia then found herself being ruthlessly kissed. Her cheeks much flushed, her eyes blazing, she fought strenuously to break free from a stronger hold than she had ever known, but her efforts only made Damerel laugh

Look, I don't mind my heroes arrogant or rude or grumpy, but assault-y is a different matter entirely. This episode is more or less laughed off, with Damerel chastened only by the fact that Venetia turns out to be gentry (as if consent didn't matter for the poor), but I find it much less forgivable than the thing that established Damerel's reputation as a rake 22 years ago - running off with a married lady of quality. At least she consented.

Damerel improves greatly upon acquaintance, but that beginning is rough. Venetia is one of Heyer's most romantic books in that the focus remains on the couple - no mysteries, comedic hijinks, or attempted murders. And once past that appalling initial scene, it's a charming story of a friendship formed over mutual frankness and liveliness of mind, and of earnest good intentions that end up backfiring before they can be set right again. Venetia, one of Heyer's most forthright and proactive heroines, ends up taking things in hand rather splendidly.

Although I generally dislike reforming-the-rake stories (surely one of the reasons women stay in abusive relationships with men they think they can 'save'), I do like the way the easy, comfortable way these two interact, and also how they both acknowledge Damerel's checkered past without shame or unease:

He even made her laugh, for when she was talking about the delights of shopping in Paris he said: "And for hats of the first style of elegance, Phanie!" which surprised a little trill of mirth out of her. "Yes! How did you know?" she asked, looking innocently up at him.

Venetia choked, and saw a muscle quiver in the corner of Damerel's mouth. But he said gravely: "I fancy I must have heard the name on the lips of some lady of my acquaintance."

Georgette Heyer is also queen of the understated burn, and she is relentless here with the socially ambitious mushroom as well as the obliviously selfish. Mrs. Scorrier is a gem of awfulness that anyone who's ever been embroiled in a petty power struggle will surely relate to:

It was the first of the many hasty interventions she felt herself obliged to make during the course of what she bitterly described as a truly memorable dinner-party, for while Aubrey offered no unprovoked attacks he was swift to avenge any hint of aggression. Since he made it abundantly plain that he had constituted himself his sister's champion, and won every encounter with the foe, Venetia could only suppose that Mrs. Scorrier was either very stupid, or compelled by her evil genius to court discomfiture.

And Venetia's kindly-intentioned but shallow aunt:

The only fault Mrs. Hendred had to find in the news was that the Queen should have chosen to die on the 17th instead of the 18th November, for the 17th was the day fixed for the ball she was giving in Venetia's honour. Few things could have been more provoking.

0/0 stars for the first encounter between Venetia and Damerel, 4.5 for all of the subsequent ones. It's so close to being apex Heyer, yet it just doesn't start on the right foot.