Navarrians had always been told that these were monsters of legend and myth, not real creatures dangerously close to breaking through Navarre’s wards and attacking civilian populations. While letting Gracewood believe her dead is connected to her transition, it’s not entirely the same, and I felt he was more justified in his anger on this subject than the author and Viola seemed to think is warranted. And it was agonizingly painful to see how long Viola fought his advances and the subtle hints of flirtations in their courtship only to be squashed under the plea of friendship, but when suddenly it could no longer be fought off anymore - they just fit together so perfectly, like it was inevitable - like it had always been meant to be. The biographer views d’Eon’s transition as seemingly as much—or possibly more—having to do with d’Eon’s religiosity as gender. This is the first historical romance I have come across to where queer poeple are not only recognised but also are treated with utmost respect.

I'm a history geek and educator, and I've lived in five different countries in North America, Asia, and Europe.On the one hand, I want to support this title and showcase how happy I am to see it exist, see it hold such a positive and happy storyline, and see it receive a wide readership. While I have far less context than the biographer, this proclamation sounds somewhat complementary to modern trans narratives I have heard—that one was ‘bad’ at presenting and fulfilling all the aspects of their gender assigned at birth, and there is a specific rightness to the gender they identify as. There are so many times when Gracewood has to adjust what he thinks of as his "role" or "responsibility" just because he's a man. Worse yet, a mystery, my very womanhood the subject of speculation in private salons and bets at White’s”.

Gracewood is upset that Viola didn’t trust him with her truth, and that he would never have known if he hadn’t figured it out on his own. Lady Marleigh, especially, she was such a lovable companion to Viola, a wonderful sister-in-law, with an equally adorable son, Little Lord Bartholomew, who innocently stole the show every time he appeared! Only when their families reconnect, years after the war, does Viola learn how deep that loss truly was. Alexis Hall produces the most unique and thought provoking relationships in his novels, and he’s just completely elevated the bar with A Lady for a Duke. It did felt a little stiff at time but I rarely noticed because I was busy in swooning over the main couple.When Viola learns of Gracewood's distress, she and her sister-in-law, the Lady Marleigh, decide to intervene.

Viola and Gracewood are drawn to each other in such a way that there is pining and angst and love and fear. The bravery and vulnerability of these two characters—the beautifully nuanced acknowledgment that necessary choices can bring relief but also loss (but also hope, and new opportunities)—I cried so much while reading that my mask became utterly saturated and probably lost structural integrity. This is definitely not a tragic story, yes we have a trans heroine and a disabled hero living in this time period, but it doesn't bear the narrative down into tragedy like I’ve seen other period pieces do. In his altogether masterful historical romance, Alexis Hall draws together a complex past between his main leads, with an evocative center of loss, memory, and intimacy driving the story forward. Hall doesn’t just blatantly have Viola say how hard living her new life has been, but instead shows the reader through Viola’s actions and interactions with both friends from her old life as well as her new.I would also be remiss not to mention the wonderful side characters in this novel, who radiate just as much as the two main leads.