If you loved watching Rachel and Liam slip into 1815 London to befriend Jane Austen and quietly nab her lost pages, you’ll relish Ned Henry’s misadventures in Victorian England. In To Say Nothing of the Dog, the historian’s assignment to locate a ridiculous cathedral artifact spirals into era-perfect comedy, butterfly-effect chaos, and tender relationships—echoing the way Rachel’s careful cover and small choices ripple through history. It’s witty, humane, and full of the same "don’t-break-the-past" tension that kept you turning pages.

Rachel and Liam’s deception—posing as siblings, infiltrating the Austens’ circle, and weighing whether saving a life might destroy the future—mirrors the moral knots in In the Garden of Iden. Mendoza is a time-lifted operative sent to 16th‑century England to preserve rare plants, all while lying about who she is and who she serves. Like Rachel’s attachment to Jane versus her mission to steal The Watsons, Mendoza’s growing bonds with people of the past make every choice perilous, intimate, and morally gray.

If the push‑pull between Rachel and Liam—complicated by her chemistry with Henry Austen and the secrecy of their operation—hooked you as much as the hunt for Jane’s missing work, Possession will hit the same sweet spot. Two contemporary scholars chase hidden letters and a lost affair between Victorian poets, and the investigation draws them together in ways that echo Rachel and Liam’s bond under pressure. It’s a lush, brainy romance powered by clues, manuscripts, and the costs of discovery.

Part of the charm in The Jane Austen Project is living inside 1815—tea tables, assemblies, servants’ gossip, and the sharp social observation Jane herself appreciates. Sorcery and Cecelia bottles that same Regency sparkle, adding a sly layer of magic. Through letters between cousins Kate and Cecelia, you’ll get the ballrooms, courtship snafus, and razor-edged manners that Rachel navigates in the Austens’ circle—plus the conspiratorial delight of secrets passed in ink.

Rachel’s first-person struggle—balancing her medical training, her cover story, and her conscience as she befriends Jane—echoes the raw immediacy of Kindred. Dana is yanked between 1976 and a Maryland plantation, forced into harrowing choices that transform her sense of self and her relationships. While the settings and stakes differ, both novels burrow into the inner cost of changing (and being changed by) the past, making every decision feel personal and irreversible.