Friday, December 19, 2014

#Review & Excerpt: FORGOTTON NO MORE by Christina McKnight

3 of 5 stars

I was anxious to read "Forgotten No More." I love historical fiction and this book sounded interesting. Although it started out well, I felt the book dragged on and on with Ruby's search for her biological father. There were far too many instances of her musing over the same thing throughout the book. That got a bit tiresome and then, there was the means she used to investigate whether or not a gentlemen of the ton was actually her father. I had to suspend my belief on her escapades especially during one notorious outing that was most unlikely to happen. 

I did like the hero, Harold Jakeston. The author does a good job of fleshing out his character quite well. By far the most interesting character for me though was Ellington. She was a spit fire of a girl and as we learned the truth of her upbringing, it became clear why she acted the way she did. If Ms. McKnight writes Ellington's story, I would be most interested in reading that one.

I received this book in exchange for an honest review.


London, England
January 1816

            Ruby took a deep breath before trying the final drawer that could hold all the answers to her past, her true heritage. Her lungs expanded; she held the air inside. She didn’t exhale until it burned. With trembling fingers, she reached for the last drawer and pulled.

            Her nicely trimmed nails nearly snapped when her grasp on the handle slipped from the force of her tug. The drawer hadn’t budged.


            “Oh, poppy cocks!” she hissed. Moving her hands to the folds of her evening gown, Ruby procured a small pouch tucked neatly into a hidden pocket. Setting it on the desk, she pulled out her array of lock-picking devices, really only hairpins and small wires she’d collected since her first night—and her first failed attempt at breaking into a desk—to help her disengage the drawer.

            She had to know what secrets this lord held. Would she find an envelope inside labelled ‘Abandoned Daughter,’ or a report from the Bow Street Runners with details about herself—her hair color, the particular green shade of her eyes, places she’d been, perhaps the details of her activities over the course of her life?

Nothing worth finding was that simply ascertained.

No man, married or not, would leave record of their nefarious past. It was more likely her father had not spared her, or her mother, a second thought after throwing his pregnant mistress from his townhouse in the middle of the night with no coat and no means to get home.

            Ruby was anything but a fool, but she found herself continuing to search regardless. She didn’t need a signed confession—she just needed that letter opener.

            Picks in hand, she knelt before the locked drawer and eyed the keyhole, blowing a wayward strand of hair that had fallen across her face. She’d been unsuccessful more often than not when attempting to open locked drawers. But luck may have been on her side this evening. She’d entered the ball with little fuss, shortly after the host and hostess had quit the receiving line. It was surprising how similar the layout of most London townhouses were. Ruby had navigated the halls of the second floor and found the room she sought fairly quickly, encountering not a soul.

            The pins slipped into the lock and her tongue darted out of her mouth to lick her lips as she concentrated on moving them exactly right to click the lock over. She fought to keep her hands steady when sweat broke out across her forehead. She was running out of time.

            Ruby applied a bit too much pressure and the pin snapped, falling uselessly into the locked drawer. “Damn you to hell, mother!” she cursed and sat back, wiping her slick brow.

            She’d always viewed herself as a sensible girl, a dutiful daughter, and an honest friend. She could only imagine the horror on Vi’s face if she saw her now. A common thief. A midnight prowler. A defiler of privacy.

            Although, it could not be helped.

            She sought answers and at the moment all she had was an endless list of questions.
            Gaining her feet once more, she bundled her kit and slipped it back into her pocket. She turned her attention to the long table against the wall behind the desk. Leaning over, she ran her hand along the underside of the ornately carved piece, feeling for hidden compartments or—if her luck returned—a forgotten folder of papers.

            “Sherry, Miss Ruby?” an oddly familiar voice asked behind her.

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