Prologue
If one researchedthe word “rake”, one would likely discover an etching of the sinfully handsome visage of Rafael Hart, Viscount Blackwood, provided as its sole definition.
The man changed his paramours more often than the world did its seasons. Many a lady had bemoaned the fact that she had failed to be the one to convince him to settle down and give up his wild ways.
He was, according to more than one tabloid, “absurdly handsome,” thanks to his dark coloring, lean height, and pleasantly athletic physique.
He possessed a caustic wit and ready smile, as well as a reputation that made debutantes salivate and their mamas steer them as quickly as possible in the other direction.
He’d been but a young buck when he’d inherited his title his last year at University, born as the second of only two children from parents more advanced in age than was customary. His impending birth had been touted as a pleasant surprise—a miracle—until his mother died of a fever without ever leaving the birthing bed.
The old viscount had been torn between joy at finally having a son and heir, and irrationally blaming an innocent babe for the death of his wife of nearly two decades. As a result, young Rafe had been left with his elder sister as his only advocate and replacement mother figure. Ten years his senior, Alice hadshown her tiny brother love and unfailingly reassured him that he was never a burden, nor had his birth been a mistake. Despite her best efforts, this had not always canceled out their father’s hard words of criticism or his grief-fueled rage whenever he looked upon the son who so looked like the mother who’d given her life for his first breath. To Rafe, Alice had been one of the only truly good things in his existence, and he’d have done absolutely anything for her.
This was why the news of her sudden death alongside her husband in a carriage accident had crippled Rafe.
When he’d have rather crawled into a hole and allowed death to claim him as well, he hadn’t even been afforded that courtesy. His brother-in-law’s solicitors had arrived on his doorstep and asked him what they should do with his sister’s children: a boy of ten, a girl of three, and an infant girl not yet weaned. Apparently (and for some unknown and ill-advised reason), their will had stipulated that Rafe, of all people, receive guardianship of the children in the unlikely event that they both perished.
Rafe, feeling particularly bewildered and lost, had been uncharacteristically frustrated that Alice hadn’t had the forethought to remember that Rafe’s life never went according to plan, and putting his name on that document had all but ensured he’d be the one to wind up caring for these children when he didn’t know the first thing about how to do so.
“There is also an Aunt Agatha Hart mentioned as an alternative,” hedged one of the solicitors who, upon taking one glance around the house, saw not one bit of warmth and comforts one would expect in a home where children would be raised. If anything, the home was little more than a façade in the literal sense—mismanagement of the Blackwood holdings prior to Rafe’s inheritance meant he’d received little more than the shabbily furnished home in which they stood, and a paltry annual income from the dregs that remained of the estate’sholdings that was barely enough to keep him clothed in the appearances befitting his station. It certainly was not enough to house, clothe, and educate three children as befitting their noble blood. He did not know the first thing about children above their universal love of sweets and presents, but even he knew they were not inexpensive.
Though the solicitor had indicated there was another option…
Rafe barely suppressed a shudder at that woman’s name. Agatha was their father’s spinster sister, whom Alice had always feared as a girl—there was a reason Agatha had never married, and it wasn’t purely her bulbous nose and permanent scowl. Unfortunately, she was also the last living relative either of them had. Alice’s husband, while he’d been a good and kind man whom Rafe had genuinely liked, had brought with him a tragic dearth of relations. These poor children certainly were not spoiled for choice. As Rafe saw it, they’d either become wildlings beneath his unworthy hand, or they’d whither beneath Aunt Agatha’s strict cane and unkind, rheumy eyes. Joy would be a thing of the past if their great-aunt had her way.
And this was how Rafe, one of London’s most notorious hell-raising rakes, inherited three small children.
It was also how, after a few months of living with said children—being thrust from the free life of a titled bachelor to that of a pseudo-father figure—he concluded that he needed to commit the ultimate sin: He needed a wife. As abhorrent as he found the situation of marriage, it was clear that a woman’s hand was required to manage the situation…not to mention he was in dire need of the influx of capital a hefty dowry would provide.
It made him nauseous, but Rafe would have to trade his title for a mother to his nephew and nieces, and money in his coffers.
Following his acceptance of the responsibility, the solicitors had immediately launched into an explanation of all theintricacies involved in taking on three small charges. Rafe lost his grip on his final shred of hope and watched it flutter away upon a brittle breeze. Though his nephew had inherited a title and some funds upon his parents’ demise, payment of the death tax and safeguards put in place by solicitors who were clearly skeptical of Rafe’s ability to be responsible (likely even more so now that they’d seen the depressingly inadequate interior of his home), the boy’s income was tied up too tightly to make any difference until he reached his majority.
All that said, Rafe required arichwife…and he needed her fast.
Chapter One
London Society has been invaded by America’s version of royalty! Shipping king, Benjamin Rockford, has arrived on English shores for what some say is a scouting mission for possible expansion of his empire to the London dockyards. Rockford Shipping has, in the last several decades, become a goliath in the trading world. Mr. Rockford earned his fortune utilizing his in-depth knowledge of the seas and a keen sense of supply and demand to build a formidable fleet. His holdings include warehouses along America’s Eastern coast and vessels numbering in the dozens; bringing his business across the Atlantic could mean proper competition for local companies. Touting fairer wages and more desirable working hours, Rockford Shipping has the potential to become a real contender in the ring as the fight for shipping supremacy expands in our ever-growing world.
“You’re muttering to yourself.”
Victoria chose not to acknowledge her brother’s comment and merely pressed her lips together. The line they formed grew tighter and thinner the more she read the sheet that had been printed and delivered just that morning.
But business does not seem to be Mr. Rockford’s only aim. He has brought his son and heir, Mister Luke Rockford,to continue his education at his father’s side so he might one day take over the lucrative venture. This author feels it is notable that he has also brought his beloved—and admittedly entirely lovely—daughter, Miss Victoria Rockford. The sophistication of London is a world away from the streets of New York City, but it appears Miss Rockford has already taken quite well to this broadening of her horizons. The Rockford trio has already been sighted enjoying a performance at The Mask & Lyre, attending a ball hosted by the Duke and Duchess of M., as well as numerous other dinner parties, and gatherings fairly overflowing with names of impeccable quality (the Duke and Duchess of R., the Earl and Countess of A., Viscount and Viscountess S., Viscount B., Mr. and Mrs. S., to hint at but a few of the illustrious individuals). One wouldn’t have considered these up-and-coming Americans to garner so much attention in such a short time, but, in addition to their intelligence and charm, the Rockford offspring are remarkably well-groomed, polite, and attractive. Mr. Rockford the Younger appears at each event cloaked in impeccable tailoring with nary a hair out of place, while his sister is always in the height of fashion. With looks (and a fortune!) such as theirs, this author feels it will be a miracle if neither of them is snapped up by the voracious (and notorious) London Marriage Mart! One thing is certain: Mr. Rockford could certainly do worse than allowing his children to form attachments here in London; his business acumen could only be strengthened by the introduction of hardy English blood, after all.
“Well that’s rather insulting,” Victoria groused and balled up the gossip rag in her hands before tossing it across the table.
“You’d do better to ignore whatever they say,” her brother, Luke, commented somewhat distractedly. He had yet to glance up from the pile of correspondence that had been delivered that morning. His breakfast plate remained untouched.
“And you’d do better to remember to eat your food. Wouldn’t want you to start wasting away lest your ‘impeccable tailoring’ no longer fit.”
“Is that what’s upset you?” A quizzical smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Oh, to be a man with a steady future ahead and not a doubt in his mind—to have the luxury of being able to ignore the drivel in such tabloids.
“I don’t think I shall ever become used to this backhanded way they have of speaking here. A single sentence can feel like a compliment and an insult at the same time. How is that even possible?” She held up her hands like the precariously balancing trays of a scale and adopted an exaggerated English accent. “The Rockfords are such a handsome family; they’d do well to marry Brits because their American bloodlines are sorely lacking. We’re all so impressed with how well they use a fork and knife, though!”
The last earned a chuckle from her brother. “Don’t take it to heart.”
“That is easy for you to say. Everyone is marveling at your intelligence and status as the crown prince of Rockford Shipping; meanwhile, I am whittled down to ‘entirely lovely’ and ‘fashionable.’”
